


So-Called Chaos

by AllisonSummer



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Marauders Era (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:34:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25343278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllisonSummer/pseuds/AllisonSummer
Summary: [MAJOR SPOILERS] A girl meets a boy, and they fall in love :o)Narcissa Black is a girl that had swanned through her gilded life with privilege. With her sister's marriage to a muggle-born, however, the cosmic dominoes she had once danced around without fear all begin to topple and throw her life into chaos, and she is left to make sense of what is left with a darker force still on the rise.
Relationships: Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy
Comments: 11
Kudos: 48





	1. Chapter 1

**September 1971**

The prefect carriage rattled as the Hogwarts Express familiarly chugged its way across the countryside. Trees streaking the land whirred by as mere smudges of mossy green, melding into the more flaxen yellow of wheaty grass until the picture outside of the window resembled a chaotically muddled, abstract painting. Narcissa pulled the blinds down just as the door to the compartment slid open.

“Cissy—” a sharp look from the girl had Evan Rosier abruptly closing his mouth, pausing, and clearing his throat to begin again, “—pardon me, _Narcissa_.” He pushed the door to close smoothly with a soft _click_ , offering her a small smile before dropping himself into the seat across from her.

Narcissa’s expression remained drawn, though her shoulders visibly relaxed as she flicked over to the next chapter in her potions textbook.

Evan hesitated at that, fidgeted his fingers on the velvet fabric of the compartment seat for a moment before scooting closer to the edge, his knees meeting Narcissa’s and drawing her attention upward once more.

“’m sorry,” he apologized, “for the nickname. I know you’re trying to distance yourself from it, and I didn’t mean to offend—”

“Evan,” Narcissa interrupted, “it’s fine, really.”

“Then why are you—” Evan gave an exasperated breath, shaking his head. “You’re so distant. You’ve been distant all summer, and I know that everything …. everything with Andromeda—”

“ _Evan_ —”

“I _know_. I know, all right? Andy was my family, too. I cared for her, and I don’t mean to salt fresh wounds, but I just want to let you know that …” he paused, grasping for the right words, “that I’m _here_. Walburga’s raving mad, I’ve heard; your parents have shut down; and Bella’s off Merlin-knows-where doing, I can only imagine, _horrendous_ things to—”

“Evan!” The slam of her textbook closing punctuated her rage.

The boy raised his hands, placating. “Sorry, I only meant …. I don’t want to lose you as well,” he admitted. “You’ve not talked to your friends at all since it happened and are still isolating yourself now, here. Honestly, Narcissa, I-I’m worried.”

The empty compartment creaked with the motion of the train following a bend along its path homeward, the only noise between them as Narcissa fought his gaze. As maternal cousins, Evan’s face was a beautiful mirror to her own: clear blue eyes set beneath thin, softly arched brows; a long, aristocratic nose; and a small, gently curving mouth usually set in an elegant smile that now, she could feel without even having to glance up, was turned downward in his concern.

Narcissa began wordlessly packing away her book, only looking up at her cousin once her bag had been latched and properly stowed away in her trunk.

“I’m sorry,” she began simply, still standing. “Truthfully, it is going to take some time for me to … come to terms, I suppose, with this-this situation. I do not mean to worry you, though, Evan,” she moved forward to reach for his hand, “so for that, I am sorry. I know I’m not alone in all of this.”

Evan received Narcissa’s smaller hand in his, squeezing for a moment before clearing his throat. “Yes, well, how dare you worry me,” he quipped lightly to a genuine smile from his cousin. “Don’t ever do such a thing ever again.”

“Really, I just came to tell you that I passed Yaxley in the corridor,” he released her hand with a roll of his eyes, “and he’s informed me that he and Greengrass have finished their rotation of the compartments, so now it’s our turn to patrol.”

Narcissa gave a long-suffering sigh but began straightening her robes and brushing away any wrinkles in her skirt. “Very well.”

“It’s not too bad, though,” Evan gave a slanted grin, a mischievous idea already playing in his eyes, “that Ravenclaw Head Boy’s been stalking about, and I’ve been waiting all summer to make his life a living hell.”

* * *

Narcissa had made the journey to Hogwarts four times already in her life. Of course, the first time, during her first year, had been special, but each instance following that in the coming years had left her increasingly disinterested as the castle and its grounds became more familiar during her studies. This year, however, was different. While not managing to recapture all of the wonder and curiosity of her first year, the sea of new faces they shepherded to the groundskeeper and the boats did leave her … touched.

By the time the prefects had returned to the Great Hall, however, that feeling had dissipated. Each group of six headed for their own house tables: the cocky Gryffindors headed to their raucous bunch already whooping and hollering at their return, the forgettable Hufflepuffs and studious Ravenclaws filed off to their respective tables, and the Slytherin group paired off to their own table. Seventh-years Corban Yaxley and Adele Greengrass made for their fellow seventh-years while sixth-years Lucius Malfoy and Loretta Flint did the same.

Evan remained at her side as they headed for the middle of the long table. To her right, Narcissa could hear the laughter of her cousin at his own anecdote (a first-year had fallen out of one of the boats, as happens _every_ year), though when she listened to her right, whisperings of _blood traitor_ and _muggle-born lover_ snaked their way down the table with a sick delight that turned her stomach.

“—and not just that! I heard that the reason she ran away with him in the first place is because she got kno—Narcissa!” Yvonne Yaxley paused her story abruptly as she saw her friend approach. “Narcissa, we saved you a seat right here— _!_ ” she gave a willowy gesture across the table from where she sat. “And one for Evan, too, I suppose.” She added with a roll of her eyes.

“Delighted as always, Yve,” Evan gave a small, mock bow before plunking himself down onto the bench. Narcissa seated herself quietly and without thanks.

“What were we discussing?” she asked, her voice cool.

Yvonne’s breath caught at the edge in her question but exhaled as she came up with an answer. “Just about the news of the summer,” she supplied, “but especially of the tragic passing of—” she gave a quick glance down to the end of the table where Lucius Malfoy sat before whispering, “— _Mrs. Malfoy_.”

Fatima shook her head where she sat beside Yvonne. “It’s just devastating, really. My mother knew Alwine so well, and it was all so sudden. I can’t imagine the toll it took on Lucius and his father.”

Yvonne nodded sympathetically. “The sudden loss of family … it’s never easy,” she pursed her lips, as if in thought, before raising her gaze. “Enough of that, though. Narcissa, how has _your_ summer been?”

The gaze of every Slytherin in their vicinity slid slowly from Yvonne to Narcissa.

“I was abroad,” she answered stiffly, her skin prickling with ire beneath the weight of their stares.

“Mm, and was it … eventful?”

“It was warm.”

“Ah,” Yvonne furrowed her brow at being so publicly dismissed.

Fatima, glancing between her two friends, piped up with her own question. “Where all did you go, Narcissa?” she asked with genuine interest.

“We spent a significant amount of time in Greece. My family has a villa on the island of Crete, hundreds of years old at this point, and hidden out of sight of the muggles. My father thought it prudent to … refamiliarize us with our long ancient roots.” She pressed the point of her lineage, much longer traceably than anyone else currently sitting at their house table could ever attempt to claim.

“And Crete does not have owls then?” Yvonne quipped.

Narcissa’s attention flicked to the girl in annoyance, though she turned back to Fatima without a comment on it. “After leaving Greece, we made our way to my mother’s family home in Chambéry, in France,” she finished blandly. “I only arrived home a few days ago, with just enough time to unpack my summer belongings and re-pack for Hogwarts.”

Having not received any kind of proper gossip or quarreling, most of the Slytherin students around them returned to their own mundane conversations of the summer and upcoming classes, though the only sign of relief Narcissa showed for this was a slight exhale of breath. Evan caught this gesture, however, and nudged her elbow a bit to give her a reassuring smile, as if to say, “ _See, not so bad as you thought, eh?”_

Before Narcissa could respond, however, movement at the head of the Great Hall had every student from each house turning to look. The first-years, simultaneously filled with both apprehension and great wonder at the grandeur of the dining hall, filed in from the staircase leading from the outside and lined up in front of the teachers’ table.

Narcissa craned her head around other students also appraising the newest arrivals and easily spotted her shaggy-haired younger cousin. She made eye contact with Sirius for a moment, offering him a small wave from her seat, only to make a small scoffing noise at the back of her throat as he intentionally turned and broke his gaze to resume talking to his little group of friends he’d already made.

The eldest students let their eyes glaze over as the Sorting Hat heartily warbled on in his song for the first-years, long and rambling, until the sharp, articulate voice of Professor McGonagall sliced through their daze with a call to begin the actual sorting.

“Acosta, Daniel!” A timid-looking boy with dark, curly hair stepped forward cautiously, slowly making his way to the stool, and Narcissa found herself tapping her shoe impatiently on the stone floor.

“Hufflepuff!” The yellow and black-bedecked table gave a cheer, with some of her fellow Slytherins sniggering to themselves at the placement.

An Adler girl was sorted into Gryffindor, an Alcorn boy to Ravenclaw, and a Bhagat boy also to Gryffindor, until finally the name she’d been anticipating rang out from the newly minted Transfiguration Professor.

“Black, Sirius!”

Narcissa watched her young cousin comfortably swagger up to the stool, and Evan beside her began to rise in his seat, preparing to jump to his feet to applaud his sorting into their house. She gave a sigh of relief herself once the hat was sat upon his moppish hair, glad at least for another family member to join her at the table, if only to feel a little less out-numbered by those around her.

“ _Gryffindor!_ ”

Evan rose to his feet fully and began to whoop, though his clapping faltered and ceased altogether as the realization of what the damn tattered hat had said dawned on him. The hall was silent for the span of a heartbeat, the Slytherins all boring their gaze into Narcissa, waiting for a reaction, though Narcissa could only freeze, half-caught between sitting and standing.

The moment passed, however, with a loud, congratulatory cheer from Gryffindor table, shrill whistles and back-patting and all, as Sirius made for the table at the opposite end of the hall. Narcissa slid back down into her seat, a sea of murmurs enveloping her senses at every turn, and disassociated for the remainder of the banquet.

* * *

The epic trek from the Slytherin common room in the dungeons to Professor Dumbledore’s office in the Headmaster’s Tower was, on a normal day, unpleasant. Given the circumstances of the evening, and indeed all of the previous events of the summer as well, the journey from the bowels of the castle to nearly its very topmost peak dragged, and only served to supply her with an uncomfortable amount of time to be consumed by her own thoughts. The tacky gargoyle statues springing to life to allow her ascension of the final sets of stairs to the Headmaster’s office were a welcome sight for once.

“Good evening, Miss Black.” Professor Dumbledore sat behind his desk, smiling beneath his half-moon spectacles, as if it weren’t the dead of night.

“Headmaster,” she offered a curt nod of her head. Out of habit, her eyes scanned the portraits lining the walls of the office, where most of the previous headmasters snoozed behind their frames. Phineas Nigellus Black, though, did not bother feigning sleep in his own portrait, and Narcissa also offered him a nod of recognition, which he returned with a pleased smile.

“Apologies for the late hour,” Dumbledore interrupted the exchange lightly, “though this matter should not take very long to sort out.”

Narcissa blinked at that, on the verge of asking, “ _And what matter would that be?”_ , though before she could vocalize the thought aloud, the Professor was speaking again.

“I trust that the first-years are all sorted and tucked in in their dormitories?” he gave a small smile at the idea.

“Our Slytherin first-years, at least,” Narcissa measured her words to him, slowly coming around to seat herself in an armchair set before his desk. “I cannot speak for the Prefects of the other houses and how their own endeavors have fared.”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled with some amusement at her splitting of hairs, giving a low laugh. “A fair enough assessment,” he said. “Though I merely wished to know how you’ve come along with your Prefect duties thus far.”

“… oh,” Narcissa could not hide her surprise at the turn of the subject. The question of why, now, at such a late hour this needed to be discussed still stuck to the front of her mind, though her furrowed brow smoothed out as she responded.

“It has been fine,” she answered honestly. “There are only four new members of our house this year, so they’re rather easy to keep track of.”

“I did notice how few were sorted into Slytherin,” the professor nodded at that, pausing a moment, seeming to turn a thought around in his mind before finally voicing it. “Sirius Black, your cousin, well … I believe we were all a bit surprised to see him head to Gryffindor.”

 _There it was_.

Narcissa breathed in a sharp breath, though it was Phineas who responded first.

“He _what?_ ” the shock on the painted man’s face held an eerily similar resemblance to her Aunt Walburga’s own rage, and Narcissa found herself straightening up in her seat without thinking.

“Oh, Phineas,” Dumbledore turned to greet the man’s portrait, as if only now realizing he were not asleep as the other headmasters appeared to be. “Yes, Sirius Black, your—what would he be now—your great- _great_ -grandson? We had the honor of sorting him into his house this evening, and the Sorting Hat settled on Gryffindor. Rather quickly, as well,” he added.

“The Sorting Hat must be mistaken, then!” Phineas set both of his hands to brace angrily against his frame, his knuckles going white with the effort.

“The Sorting Hat seemed very sure,” Dumbledore defended, though his voice held none of the aggression to match Phineas’. 

The man in the painting spluttered for a second, muttering to himself. “I-it’s very old! Obsolete, even, and needing—it’s not … ” he paced in his portrait a moment more, thinking, before looking up again. “I shall return,” Phineas quickly exited his painting, leaving his frame empty except for its background.

Narcissa closed her eyes, her heart dropping. Any moment now, her Aunt Walburga and Uncle Orion would be awoken by the painting of their ancestor at Grimmauld Place, and she could be sure that she would receive a furious letter the very next morning, indignant that Narcissa hadn’t written to them _immediately_ that such a mistake as outrageous as misplacing their son and heir in _Gryffindor_ house had occurred.

“Miss Black?” The headmaster prompted gently.

Narcissa opened her eyes, and unshed tears lined her vision, momentarily causing a fuzziness in her sight, though the smoke and multi-colored steam coming from the devices strewn about the professor’s desk did little to help.

“Yes, Professor?” she swallowed the lump in her throat to ask.

Dumbledore rose deliberately, stepping slowly around his desk so that he could lean against the top of it, his hands folded calmly before him.

“Truly, I did not mean to upset you,” he offered his apology, though Narcissa immediately shook her head to disagree.

“No, I’m—it’s fine. _I’m_ fine,” she tried to reassure, and the professor looked on the girl with an expression of compassion she misinterpreted as pity. Clearing her throat, she mustered up as much resolve as her bruised ego could manage. “Professor, what is it you needed to see me for exactly?”

Dumbledore appraised his student for a moment more before nodding slightly and leaning off of his desk to stand properly.

“A certain event from over the summer has reached my office,” he paced away from his desk in long, slow steps. “The, er, estrangement,” he phrased delicately, “of your sister Andromeda from your family.”

Narcissa stiffened at the mere mention of her middle sister, quickly opening her mouth to object, though the professor interjected quickly, “I am not attempting to pry at all, I assure you. I merely wish to offer my condolences and the sentiment that I hope, for everyone’s sake, the situation resolves itself.”

“With that,” he made his way back over to his desk, seating himself once more, “the reason I have called you here is to ensure that your healing from this difficult family situation is not hindered at all from having to fulfill your duties as Prefect. I wouldn’t have you suffer both the undue anxiety of personal trauma _and_ the pressures of leadership to your fellow classmates.”

Her expression dropped from her face in shock.

“You want to revoke my Prefect status?”

“No, no,” the headmaster assured her, “I am merely offering you the opportunity to relinquish them yourself, if you are feeling overwhelmed. If you believe yourself to be capable of shouldering the burden of both, know that I also have faith in your abilities, as does your head of house. It was a contributing factor as to why you were chosen as Prefect from your year in the first place.

Given the circumstances, however, I simply wanted to remind you that you do have options, should your feelings change on the matter.”

Narcissa sat in her chair, stiff but mostly assuaged from her alarm.

“Thank you, sir,” her throat, though still tight with emotion, managed to work out the words, “but I do not think that will be necessary.”

Dumbledore surveyed the girl a final time over his spectacles before offering her a nod.

“Very well, Miss Black. I shall not keep you any longer then,” and Narcissa found herself rising without thought, her mind disconnected from her body. “Peaceful dreams to you.”

She murmured her thanks once more as her feet immediately directed her to the office door and down the steep steps leading back into the corridor. The out-of-body feeling, that disassociation, left her feeling lightheaded, and by the time she had reached the gargoyles at the bottom of the stairs, she had shut her eyes and brought a hand to her brow, her other hand supporting herself on the railing.

“Narcissa?”

The girl looked up to find none other than Lucius Malfoy, her fellow Prefect, approaching the base of the winding staircase.

Narcissa righted herself, and Lucius was prudent enough to not comment on her state.

“The headmaster called you for a late-night discussion, as well?” he asked, polite but just edging with the barest of scrutiny.

Pushing off of the railing, Narcissa gave one last glance up toward the office before turning back and heading for the direction of the dungeons and the warm comfort of her bed, passing her classmate.

“Good luck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you made it to the end of this long-ass chapter, you are a god. Thank you, lmao.


	2. Chapter 2

The letter hadn’t come.

Cauldrons bubbled low and rhythmically where the seventh-years had left them at their tables. The cold, wet air of the Potions classroom gave Narcissa a chill, and she fought the urge to tug the ends of her sleeves down over her hands for warmth. Professor Slughorn continued stirring the many concoctions, giving a small burst of laughter beneath his breath whenever it produced a cloud of bright hibiscus pink and scritching disappointedly into the clipboard of parchment in his hands if the potions simply reflected a dark chartreuse green without change.

She hadn’t received a letter from her aunt or uncle that morning at breakfast, and her stomach had twisted itself into knots in its anticipation of the thing. _Sirius_ hadn’t even received a letter himself, as she was quite sure she would’ve heard the voice of a Howler had one been delivered to him.

Narcissa fidgeted in her chair as she waited for Slughorn to finish his grading.

 _Perhaps Aunt Walburga had tired herself out from shouting so much about Andromeda_ , Narcissa considered the idea, if wishfully. She’d screamed and screamed her voice hoarse the first night following Andromeda’s elopement, smashing brandy glasses against the tapestry one by one once she could no longer verbalize her rage.

_“Blood traitor!”_

_“Filth!”_

_“Shame of this family!”_

A high, shrill whistle rang out through the classroom, and Narcissa snapped out of the memory with a slight gasp.

“Aha!” Slughorn bustled over to the potion brewing in his own cauldron sat upon his desk. “Finished at last,” he said absently over his shoulder. “A simple Wiggenweld potion for my first-years, and just in the nick of time, too.” He glanced at the timepiece on his desk, rapping his knuckles in thought before turning around.

“Thank you for meeting me here, Narcissa. Normally I would do these in my office, but … well, it’s been a strange start to the year to say the least.” Narcissa found herself nodding along to the sentiment as he approached the table she was sat at.

“It’s no problem, Professor,” she assured, “I’ve a free period now anyhow.”

“Oh, good.” Slughorn murmured as he tried to settle himself at the worktable, seating himself across from her with a slight wobble of the uneven stool. Her mouth twitched upward into a near-smile.

“I’m glad for the opportunity to congratulate you on your newly-appointed Prefect role in any case—so congratulations,” he tipped his head in her direction, his hands still braced against the tabletop as he steadied himself on the stool. “It was a rather easy decision, really—not that I have favorites!” He swiftly amended.

“Of course not, Professor,” Narcissa’s tone remained neutral, and Slughorn, relieved at her reaction, continued on.

“Well, getting down to it—I don’t want to take up all of your free period, after all—I’m merely, ah, checking in, as your Head of House. Dumbledore’s informed me that you two have already discussed … certain things, ah—” he cleared his throat once, and then again. “I suppose I’m asking how—how your term is coming?”

“I’ve only had the one class so far this morning,” Narcissa said slowly, “and the first-years all made it to the Great Hall for breakfast, and then to their classes.”

“Of course,” Slughorn said quickly, “of course it’s only the first day …”

“Though you might be happy to know, Professor, that I spent a good deal of this past summer deliberating on what career field I might purse after my fifth year. I know our session for careers advice is not until the end of summer term, but if you were interested … “ she let her sentence trail off. 

“Oh, do tell,” the man nearly sighed in relief at the turn in conversation.

Narcissa gave a small smile for his benefit.

“I’m rather sure I would like to be a healer,” she revealed, “or train more in medicinal magics, at the very least.”

Being independently wealthy, Narcissa, like many of her other Slytherin peers, would have no need to work following her education at Hogwarts, though most chose to pursue further education despite this, and many obtained jobs in their chosen field—at least for a time, until they either tired of it altogether or found a better, more direct way to curry influence and establish connections.

Professor Slughorn brightened at this new revelation, his face softening with a genuine smile. “Healing!” he exclaimed, “A noble art! And one that would see you attending more advanced potions lessons, as well.”

“You sound surprised, sir,” Narcissa couldn’t help but to laugh, further baiting, “do you not find me capable?”

“Not _capabl_ —? Oh, no, no! It’s not like that at all!” he defended. “The longer I am able to keep you in my classes, the better! Your sisters were quick to abandon their old Potions Master, they were, and I was sorry for it! They were both so bright and passionate … but Bellatrix decided to focus on Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Slughorn recalled wistfully, “and I believe Andromeda was more interested in Charms, if I’m remembering correctly.”

Narcissa tensed, remaining silent, but offered no more of a reaction at the mention of her middle sister. The smile slid from his face in a slow realization.

Horace Slughorn opened his mouth as if to apologize, but stopped, looking dismayed at himself and the awkward situation he’d created. Instead, he unclipped the pieces of parchment from his clipboard, shuffling them around a moment and straightening their edges to line up once more, before clipping them back again.

Once he had mastered his embarrassment enough to look back up, emotion showed through his conflicted expression, as if he considered saying something more, to offer her condolences or his _sympathy_ , Merlin forbid. The debate played out clearly on his face, though ultimately lost out to remaining silent on the matter.

His stool squeaked out noisily in the silence as he squirmed.

“In any case, Narcissa, I whole-heartedly approve of this career path for you,” he tried again, clipped and brisk, “and, if you would like, I can have one of the sixth-years dig out an extra copy of advanced reading for you to study further.”

“Yes, Professor, thank you.”

* * *

Skipping breakfast had been a grave error, Narcissa decided as she set it on her second helping of carrots and roast potatoes, plucking a roll to set on her plate as her friends sat and chatted around her for what little remained of the lunch period.

“McGonagall is just the worst!” Verna Fowley scowled where she sat next to Yvonne. “I mean, the woman was uptight before, no doubt, but Dumbledore making her head of the Transfiguration Department _and_ the head of Gryffindor all in one go? It’s just—!” the brunette shook her head in disgust.

“The homework!” Fatima bemoaned beside Narcissa, leaning into the table sullenly. “I do have more important things to do here other than homework.”

Narcissa speared a carrot onto one of the tines of her fork. “Like?” she asked, taking a delicate bite.

“ _Like?_ ” Fatima repeated back to her, disbelief rife on her beautiful face, “Important things like … like—!”

“Social connections?” Yvonne supplied helpfully.

“Yes! Like social connections,” the other girl grasped onto her answer, “Thank you, Yvonne!”

Verna peered over the top of the magazine she’d just opened. “Is it putting a damper on plans you’ve already made with Avery?” she gave a smug purse of her lips.

“I … ” Fatima hesitated, taken aback that she could know as much already, “well, so what if it does?”

Narcissa and the two other girls snickered.

“Quidditch trials are this weekend, and Avery will be there,” she tried to further defend. “I wanted to go, to support him.”

“Support him for when he fails to make the team again this year?” Verna quipped, raising her magazine back up once more.

Fatima gave an offended shriek and promptly armed herself with the buttered roll from Narcissa’s plate, to the girl’s protest (she was, in fact, still starving and planning on eating that). The sound of someone clearing their throat, however, had Fatima pausing her aim.

“Pardon the interruption.”

They all looked up.

“Oh, hello, Lucius,” Yvonne immediately righted her posture and threw her glossy hair behind her shoulder in one smooth motion. “What can we do for you?”

Lucius nodded his acknowledgements to Yvonne and, eying the roll still held in Fatima’s raised hand, his eyes shifted down to Narcissa, somewhat relieved. He began to unfasten the stays of his school bag, reaching within, and returning with a potions book.

“From Slughorn,” he relayed simply. “The ‘advanced reading’ you requested earlier.”

“Ah,” Narcissa quickly gulped a drink of water from her goblet before reaching out to receive the textbook from him, “incredible, thank you, Lucius.”

He glanced to Fatima and the roll one final time, before shifting his attention back to Narcissa. “Of course,” he accepted her thanks graciously. “Well, I won’t keep you from your, er, warfare,” he commented lightly, “so … enjoy.”

And with that, the girls were alone again.

“Unbelievable, Narcissa, really!” Fatima was the first to speak. “Here I am complaining about the assignments we already have, and you’re trying to give yourself more!” She dropped the roll back onto Narcissa’s plate.

Yvonne leaned forward with feline eyes. “Is it that you’re looking for a tutor, Narcissa?” she theorized aloud, playful, “A sixth-year tutor with icy blond hair and the surname Malfoy?”

Narcissa made a face at that.

“Lucius Malfoy? And me?” she waved the possibility away as if it were a bothersome gnat and began stowing the book away in her own bag.

“I’m just saying—”

“Well don’t,” Narcissa returned sharply, drawing looks from the two girls spectating.

Through the open doors leading from the Great Hall, the old caretaker Pringle stumped his way along as quickly as he could, and beside him by a woman Narcissa vaguely recognized as the Xylomancy teacher. A tittering band of students followed behind the both of them. Narcissa furrowed her brow.

“Did you know that they’ve replaced Lucius as the Quidditch Captain?” Yvonne shifted the conversation. “The others found out this morning through a note—signed by Dumbledore, no less—pinned to the notice board in the Common Room. Stephen Leggett is replacing him and, I suppose, overseeing the trials this weekend.”

“What?” Narcissa turned back around in her shock.

“Who even is Stephen Leggett?” Verna dropped her magazine completely, folding it over and tossing it aside at the sound of fresh gossip.

Yvonne suppressed a small smile at their surprise, basking in the centralized attention all diverted to her. “He’s a sixth-year, and he’s evidently a very good Quidditch player,” she shrugged, “that’s all I know.”

Fatima propped her elbow up onto the table, dropping her head in her hand. “But why was Lucius removed in the first place?”

“Oh, he’s not removed completely, just demoted. He’ll still be playing as Seeker.”

More commotion filled the corridor outside of the Great Hall: the scraping of shoes along the stone floor as hordes of students ran after one another to catch up and excited shouts for their friends to hurry and follow along. Many students still eating stopped to go and investigate for themselves.

“What is going on?” Fatima voiced the confusion they all felt.

“Narcissa? Narcissa Black?” a small Hufflepuff boy, likely a second or third-year by the looks of him, emerged from the gathering crowd and clumsily sprinted the length of the Slytherin table until he finally reached her. “Professor—” he panted, pausing a moment to catch the ragged breath in his chest, “Professor Dumbledore’s asked to see you. _Immediately!_ ”

Without hesitation, Narcissa slung her schoolbag over her shoulder and rushed out of the hall.

* * *

“ _This is outrageous! Utterly ridiculous!_ ”

The shrill voice reverberated through the corridors, clearly audible even over the curious murmurs rippling through the crowd of students inching their way toward the seventh floor of the castle. A stitch pulled at Narcissa’s side, complaining at such a vigorous run without preparation, though she persevered, streaming through the crowd and pushing herself forward.

“ _Utterly ridiculous? Can’t see the irony in that coming from you, can you?_ ”

A familiar snarl ripped through the hall, and Narcissa shoved through the remaining students shielding the rowing figures up ahead.

“I said re-sort him!” Walburga Black turned back to shout at Dumbledore where he stood at the base of the Griffin staircase. Orion Black, her husband, stood stock-still beside the headmaster and dared not say anything.

“Now, Madame—” Dumbledore raised his hands in preparation of her advance.

“Or what?” Sirius barked out. “If I stay in Gryffindor, will you burn me off of that ugly family tapestry, as well?”

“Perhaps!”

“Promise?”

The Black family matriarch surged forward as if to grab him by the scruff of his neck, but Professor McGonagall shot forward with a swiftness and cut off the other woman’s path before she could reach him, with two other teachers in tow behind her as support.

“Mrs. Black!” the Transfiguration Professor’s stern voice rang out. “Any concerns you have for your son’s education can and _must_ be discussed in the Headmaster’s office, away from the other students! There’s no use in causing a scene!”

One of the teachers set a hand at the raving mother’s elbow to gently direct her back into the direction of the office, and Walburga’s eyes went wide.

“HOW DARE YOU!” The woman, though thin and aging, bellowed loud enough that even the ghosts floating amongst the crowd gave a wince. Narcissa hurried forward as the matriarch wrenched her arm back and prepared for a fresh vitriolic onslaught.

“Aunt Walburga! Auntie,” she placed herself between her aunt and the terrified teacher making to back away, “you cannot do this here.” Her soft voice, though not a whisper, gently pleaded her case. “ _Please_ , reconsider your position.” Walburga’s eyes shifted to her niece, and widened momentarily in recognition.

“Narcissa—!” The older woman paused, choking back on some of her fury. The reaction to her youngest niece’s presence was immediate, like a storm dousing a raging fire with sheets of ice-cold rain. Walburga’s eyes slid slowly from Narcissa to back over the girl’s shoulder where the line of teachers stood at the ready, before traveling over further to the corridor packed with students all still watching the exchange with childish intrigue. Though her heart still continued its maniacal beat in her chest, she took a step back.

“Really!” Sirius’ voice piped up behind Narcissa’s shoulder now. “She says all of these disgusting, bigoted things, and you’re concerned at how we’ll _look?_ ”

Professor McGonagall’s hands were a vice grip on his shoulders as she turned him away from his cousin and mother, though Narcissa did not miss the disgust on the eleven-year-old’s face as he left.

“Prefects!” McGonagall’s voice whipped out at the crowd. “Escort the students back to the lower corridors so that they can head to their afternoon classes! Anyone without a class to attend should return to their house!” Her tone held an implied, ‘or else.’

The Prefects from each house materialized from the crowd at her command and immediately began herding the students away from the scene, much to their disappointment. A few unhappy mutterings and curses marked their exit, though none dared tempt the wrath of the Gryffindor Head of House.

“If you would, Mrs. Black—” Dumbledore gestured to the staircase leading up to his office.

Walburga stayed planted where she stood, glowering.

“Dear,” Orion stepped forward now, offering a beseeching hand to his wife, “please.”

The woman flared her nostrils, appearing to reconsider her ceasefire, though ultimately deciding against it. Walburga swept past her husband’s outstretched hand and indeed past Dumbledore’s, as well, and barged up the steps to the Headmaster’s Office, her heels clacking angrily on the stone floor with each step she took.

Orion warily followed after, and Dumbledore gave Narcissa a nod of thanks for her help before bringing up the end of their group traveling upstairs. The gargoyles fell back into their normal perch, waiting for the correct password to be spoken aloud. Narcissa, however, remained silent, and simply hugged her schoolbag to her chest.

It was only the sound of footsteps approaching minutes later that had her releasing her bag and glancing up. “Evan,” his name left her lips with a flood of relief.

Her cousin gave a deep sigh and ran his hand through the back of his hair. ‘’That sure was something, wasn’t it?”

“Please,” Narcissa exhaled, “please tell me something that can make me feel better. Or at least more normal?”

Evan reached into his bag and began to dig out some parchment from the disorganized mess. “Well, Ol’ Sluggy’s given me our patrol schedules for the term.”

“Fantastic.”


	3. Chapter 3

The Slytherin Common Room thrummed with post-dinner activity. A group of third and fourth-years were sat playing a particularly absorbing game of Exploding Snap next to the window that peered out into the inky depths of the lake, with a group of first and second-years huddled around them excitedly watching their progress. Loretta Flint lounged against a chaise couch, her tawny cat sprawled out on her lap, itself also napping.

The fireplace loudly cracked and popped where Narcissa was sat in her own wingback chair, her legs hanging off of the side of it as she flipped another page of her book. The incident, which Narcissa had refused to call it anything but, had been days ago, and while most of the school had returned to their usual gossip and topics of conversation, the Slytherin interest in it had decidedly lingered. She could feel their weighty stares in each lesson they attended, in the dining hall at every meal, and throughout every evening once they had all retired to their house for the night.

The lattermost was particularly distracting that night, as each time a student returned to the Common Room, there was a moment of quiet as they saw Narcissa and paused, which saw the students already occupying the Common Room pause and watch the students watching her. It was a tiring cycle, and she herself was tired of being treated as if she were a zoo attraction rather than a witch.

“Have you seen that ghastly new tree on the grounds?” Fatima pointed her quill upward in the direction of the teal-shadowed window. “The one beside the lake?”

“The one that _moves_? How could you miss it?” Verna, on the couch adjacent to them, had her assignments sprawled out on the table in front of her.

“Well, what do you think it’s for? Dumbledore never said,” Fatima pondered it. “All he mentioned was that it was dangerous and to keep your distance, which … poor Avery. He just doesn’t listen.” She furrowed her brow, no doubt the upcoming Quidditch trials still weighing on her mind. Yvonne could barely stifle her laughter, and Narcissa smiled too.

“Perhaps it’s a new project for Herbology? For the sixth or seventh-years?” she proffered her own guess.

Across the room, Loretta stretched out on her tufted fainting couch. “Sprout hasn’t mentioned it during our lessons at all,” her silky voice carried over to them.

“A project for Professor Sprout herself then?” Narcissa shrugged.

Fatima sat back in her chair, stumped. Just as she was opening her mouth for another question, however, another pair of students emerged through the portal to the private dungeon, and quiet descended on them once more as the cycle began anew.

Narcissa gave a sigh, snapping her book closed and righting herself to sit properly in her chair. The movement sent the pair of students skittering up to the safety of the girls’ dormitory, and the explosion of a card from the game on the other side of the room drew everyone’s attention away once more. Loretta’s cat jumped at the noise with an indignant hiss and scrambled away.

“You really don’t have to leave, Narcissa,” Verna spoke lowly, looking up at her friend over a sea of parchment blackened in ink.

“Or at least let one of us go with you,” Fatima made to rise, as well, though Narcissa waved her off before she could fully stand herself.

“It’s fine,” she attempted to reassure her friends, bending down to rifle through her school bag as she did, “I have patrol duties tonight anyway, so I might as well get an early start on them.” She found her Prefect badge amid her assignments and, throwing her hair back out of the way, pinned them to the breast of her school robes. Yvonne pursed her lips and looked away.

Setting her hair back in place, Narcissa packed away her books and quills with a quick flick of her wand. “Could you bring this upstairs for me whenever you go?” She looked to Yvonne.

“Of course, your majesty,” her cool reply came with a facetious motioning of a curtsy, and the other girl turned away, resisting the urge to roll her eyes, and headed for the door.

“Tell Evan we send our love!” Verna called out behind her as she went.

* * *

The few remaining older students lingering about the castle were beginning their trek back to their own dormitories as Narcissa set out. Most had trudged out of the library, all laden with their textbooks and rolls upon rolls of parchment full of notes, and for a moment Narcissa was struck by a pang of anxiety for her O.W.L’s.

The moment passed, however, as she swung back down to the ground floor and spotted the familiar Slytherin robes of her patrol partner for the evening. Giving the floor a final once-over, Narcissa all but ran to meet him in the middle of the hall.

Lucius Malfoy caught her in his arms with a small laugh, the momentum of her weight throwing him off balance so that they swung around into a half-circle.

“You got my note, then?” he leaned into her soft embrace.

Narcissa stepped onto the tips of her toes, tipping her head up to brush a quick kiss against his lips.

“Obviously,” she murmured with shut eyes, not quite willing to release him from her snug hold just yet. Instead, she allowed herself to bury her face into his neck and was content to breathe in the remnants of the cologne he’d worn that day. Narcissa gave a deep, relaxed breath before looking up again. “How did you convince Evan to switch patrol times with you, anyhow?”

Lucius gave a cryptic smile.

“I asked nicely,” he tried, though as Narcissa leaned back to quirk her brow at him, he laughed and quickly relented. “I also might have mentioned that Loretta and mine’s schedules intersects with Heath Abbott’s.”

“He loves annoying that Ravenclaw Head Boy,” she scoffed in understanding, shaking her head before another question struck her, and she lightly hit his shoulder. “Why did you not tell me about the Quidditch Team? About losing out to—what’s his name—Leggett?”

Lucius’ lip curled at the name alone.

“Dumbledore’s meddling,” he tried to tamp down his obvious simmering rage, his chest expanding with a sigh. Narcissa nodded solemnly.

“So, he offered to let you renege on your Prefect duties, as well?” her tone was unimpressed.

“And insisted it was out of concern for my well-being,” Lucius pressed his thin lips together in clear distaste. “I assured him I could manage all of my duties, but he said … with my mother—” he cleared the sticking feeling at the back of his throat, “—with everything that’s happened, my Prefect duties and N.E.W.T-level classes were more than enough to overload my schedule. Leggett had already been angling for control of the team and must have mentioned something of it to the Headmaster over the summer, and of his father having been on the Tornadoes.” 

Narcissa raised a hand to stroke at his forearm at the mention of his mother, bringing his attention back to focus on her once more.

“Did your conversation with him fare any better?” he asked. “I saw you … weren’t in a right state,” he phrased delicately, “after leaving his office. You looked as though you needed to be alone.”

“Sorry for that,” she murmured, and Lucius smoothed his hands down the hair hanging down her back at her apology, pulling her in closer. “It went about as well as yours did. He _happened_ to mention Sirius’ sorting, and Phineas fled to Grimmauld Place to inform my Aunt Walburga immediately, who was not happy in the least.”

“I saw,” Lucius commented lightly.

“Everyone saw,” Narcissa sighed out at the thought, “and I’ve been on the receiving end of hundreds of stares since it happened.” Though some were from sheer curiosity, most had just wanted to gossip and revel in the misfortune that had befallen the House of Black. They could smell blood.

 _Jealousy_ , the thought also pulsed fiercely at her temples.

“I just … I wish things could stop,” she shook her head. “It feels like everything in my life is falling apart, and there’s nothing I can do to help it. I wish there was something I could do.”

“If there’s anything I can do to help, in a larger sense, all you need do is ask, Narcissa,” he pledged, bringing her hand to rest over the steady beat of his heart. He would not intrude upon her family affairs without her explicit approval, as the business was … tricky, to say the least, and he trusted her intuition. Lucius keenly understood the loss of family, however, and was more than willing to stand beside her whenever she needed.

“For now, however, I believe I have a remedy for your current mood,” he offered with suspicious innocence.

“Oh? Is that so?” Narcissa slanted her expression at him.

“Oh, yes,” the hand that had smoothed down her hair earlier returned and resumed its ministrations, though this time stopping toward the end of her strands and grasping onto her petite waist. “I have an idea, at least.”

Narcissa felt the hand at her waist with a laugh.

“So full of good ideas,” she beamed at him, and her grin had Lucius feeling warmer already. “Someone really ought to make you a Prefect.” She circled her arms around his neck.

He set his smile to the side of her face and began walking her backwards out of the middle of the hall until she felt the harsh stone of the corridor wall on her back and calves. “How novel,” he purred beside her ear, and the warm heat of it sent a shiver dancing down to the end of her spine.

“Thank you, Lucius,” she breathed, both in response to his last comment and for the _wonderful_ distraction he was serving her now. He nipped at her neck in response, and Narcissa gave a delighted shriek that carried down and out of the deserted hall.

* * *

“Hurry up, Remus!”

“I _am_ — _!_ ”

The two Gryffindor first-years hobbled under the weight of the cakes, pies, and other treats they’d stuffed into the pockets of their school pants as they left the school kitchens.

“I don’t think I’ve ever met so many house-elves at once in all my life—or any so nice,” Sirius Black grinned beneath his mussed hair. “I didn’t even think they could _do_ that.”

“Do what?” Remus Lupin laughed beside his friend as he tried to keep pace. “Be nice?”

“Yeah! Ours is the worst,” Sirius checked around the corner of the next corridor before turning and heading out of the basement. “He likes to call me names under his breath as if I can’t hear him, and when I’m not looking, he tries to slip maggots into my bed.”

“Well, what’d you do to him?” Remus asked knowingly.

“Nothing!” the darker-haired boy voice rose higher, his face hot. “He’s a miserable git all on his own! Idolizes my mother like he’s her first-born or something.”

Remus gave another laugh but let the matter settle without further comment.

The boys strolled past the open doors of the Great Hall, with only a few of its floating candles dimly burning in the surrounding darkness. The next corridor they turned greeted them with only a few lit sconces and utter silence, and they returned the sound of their shoes scuffing across the stone floor—until Sirius stopped dead in his tracks with a tilt of his head.

Remus didn’t realize for a moment that he’d stopped, but once he did, he glanced around nervously for some kind of authority figure. “What is it?” he walked back over to him.

“Do you hear that?” Sirius screwed his face up in concentration and began moving, heading down to the end of the hall and taking a right to head in the direction of a long line of empty classrooms and storerooms rather than the marble staircase. Remus followed after him, confused.

“Pringle’s office is in this direction, you know!” he boy harshly whispered. “And if he catches us—”

Sirius shushed him, gesturing for him to lower his voice with a wave of his arm. “Just listen!” he insisted, lurking forward and casting his gaze about on either side of him for the source of the noise.

Remus gave an exasperated look to his friend, though ultimately relented, and attempted to tune his hearing into the minute sounds of the empty castle. After a long, lingering moment, a wave of curiosity rippled across his expression.

“Oh! I think I hear it,” he said, his interest piqued. “It sounds … wet?”

“I think … I think I know what it is,” Sirius considered, his grin returning and growing wider with every step forward he took. “I think someone’s snogging!”

Remus, age eleven, made a face at that, sticking his tongue out in revulsion at the idea. “That’s disgusting.”

Sirius, also age eleven, gave a bright laugh. “It’s hilarious! Let’s go see who it is.”

“What? No! What if it’s … teachers, or something?” the sandy-haired boy objected, and his friend scrunched his face up at the imagery.

“That would be disgusting.”

“Right, so we should just go—”

“C’mon, we’ll be quiet if it’s teachers! I still want to find out, seeing as we’ve come all this way already.” And with a finger over his lips, Sirius tipped his head in the direction of a short, dead-end hallway to their left, where the noise seemed to originate. Remus shook his head at the other boy, though it did nothing to deter him, and reluctantly, he trailed after.

Peeking around the corner to where he was just barely visible, Sirius scanned the dark hallway, and saw nothing. Cautiously, he turned the corner and crept forward on light feet, conscious of every squeak of leather from his shoes and each shuffle of the fabric of his pants. Tiny, curved alcoves lined either side of the hallway, some empty and some decorated with potted plants and miscellaneous décor. Remus’ heart thudded in his chest as the sound grew louder and closer. 

Coming upon the last alcove, they did indeed find a couple snogging. A feeling of relief washed over the both of them at the sight of the back of a Hogwarts uniform, and, emboldened by the fact that these were not, in fact, teachers, Sirius gleefully gave a long wolf-whistle, while Remus allowed himself a short laugh at his antics.

The shrill noise pierced the silence, and both students jumped apart in alarm at the sound of it, prompting further laughter from the young boys. Narcissa Black, however, once pushing aside her shock, was not laughing.

“Sirius!”

The sight of his cousin sent Sirius stock-still for a brief moment, his eyes jumping from her haphazardly untucked blouse to her wrinkled skirt and the hand Lucius still set at her waist, before he doubled over and pretended to retch.

“Disgusting!” he cried indignantly, throwing her an accusatory look as he turned back around.

“ _Sirius!_ ”

“You know that children go here, don’t you?” he pressed further.

Behind him, Remus shifted the weight on his feet back and forth, keenly aware of the fact that they’d just come across not one, but _two_ , Prefects while they were out of bed and wandering the halls, and now Sirius was antagonizing them. Sensibly, he kept his mouth shut.

Meanwhile, Narcissa, a deep flush in her cheeks and across her chest, stepped forward out of the alcove and advanced on her younger cousin. “What are you even doing out of bed?” she hissed under her breath.

“What are you doing snogging Lucius Malfoy?” he returned easily, his voice echoing back the accusation throughout the dead-end corridor. “And _really_? Lucius Malfoy?”

“Keep your voice down!” Narcissa’s face was despairing at the noise. Behind her, Lucius gave a small pout for her cousin’s insult.

“Why should I?” Sirius asked simply.

His cousin paused, collecting her expression and seeming to consider his response and the situation they were all in now. She worked her jaw, before taking a steadying breath and bringing her steely gaze back up.

“If you leave now and return to your House,” she began slowly, channeling her mother, “without breathing a word of this to _anyone_ , I won’t turn you both over to Professor McGonagall for severe punishment.” She ended the offer by crossing her arms over her chest.

“Y’know, Narcissa,” Sirius shook his head, a bit disbelieving at her threat, “I really thought that you of all people would’ve wanted everyone to know that you’re with Malfoy. He’s a git—” Lucius scoffed in the background “—don’t get me wrong, but he’s the kind of git that would impress your lot of Pureblood fanatics you call friends, and our demented family. And it’d be a quick fix for how Andy left you all for her Muggleborn boyfrie—”

The end of his sentence was quickly snuffed out as Narcissa burst forward and shoved him against the adjacent wall. Sirius quickly flushed with shock, her shaking arm still held against his chest and barring him from any kind of movement.

Lucius and Remus made eye contact for an awkward moment before sliding their attention back to the pair of Blacks with unease.

“You have no right to speak of my sister that way,” Narcissa’s voice was hardly more than a whisper as she nearly touched foreheads with her cousin. “She did not _leave_ me—us,” she corrected herself.

“No, you all exiled her! You sent her away so that she couldn’t come back!” Sirius found some resolve in himself to shout back. His throat constricted with emotion, the memories of times spent with his middlemost and favorite cousin wetting his eyes, though he did not look away. “You don’t get to cry when you’re the ones who disowned her!”

Ripples of emotion crossed her face, conflicted and at war with each other over his words. At once, the strength left her arm so that it fell from Sirius’ chest to swing listlessly by her side, and he immediately stepped out of her reach to edge closer to his friend.

Remus met him, coming to stand beside him in solidarity despite his nerves.

“Narcissa,” Lucius gently prompted beside her, and she leaned into his warm presence without thinking. The two pairs quietly surveyed each other, remaining silent until Remus cleared his throat with some effort.

“Well,” he started, his voice a bit high, “I—I do believe we should be heading to our dormitory about now.”

“A good idea,” Lucius affirmed.

The two first-years began to back away, turn, and head out of the corridor and back toward Gryffindor Tower, though before they could get very far, Narcissa stepped forward.

“Sirius,” she said, and the boy froze at the sound of his name. Narcissa bit at the inside of her cheek that he wouldn’t turn to face her, a remorseful pit opening up at the bottom of her stomach. “I’m sorry.”

“I won’t tell anyone that I saw you with Malfoy, but after this, don’t even consider trying to speak to me.”

* * *

Their Prefect duties concluded without incident following their run-in with the two Gryffindors, and soon the familiar chill of the dungeons far beneath the castle embraced them, sinking into their uniform to keep them company.

“I’ll let you head up first,” Lucius brushed a quick kiss over her lips, “to try and keep suspicions at bay. I could use a bit of a walk anyway, to clear my head.”

Narcissa nodded, following up his kiss with another, though this one soft and more lingering.

“Don’t get caught wandering the halls,” she advised him.

“You lack faith in my ability to sneak about at night?” Lucius gave a look of mock surprise, and Narcissa returned a breath of laughter.

“Not necessarily,” she defended, “though I do have more confidence in your ability to talk yourself out of any situation you find yourself in. Regardless, however, be careful.” And with a final kiss goodnight, Lucius turned and made his way back up to the main floor of the castle.

Narcissa gave the password (“Fifi” after the late, great Slytherin-alum authoress Fifi LaFolle, whose death threw every reader of _Enchanted Encounters_ into pure anguish) and passed through the dungeon wall and into the Common Room.

The fire had burnt itself down to near embers, and the entire room was thrown into a green-tinted darkness. The students that had occupied the couches and chairs earlier were all now tucked into their beds upstairs, and Narcissa began to head for the stairs leading to her own dormitory when something caught her attention by the fireplace.

Her schoolbag.

Her schoolbag that Yvonne had said she would take upstairs.

Her small, rounded nose flared her anger, but the strength to feel anything beyond annoyance was sapped until she’d had a long night’s rest in the very least. Instead, she trudged over to the space she had occupied earlier with her friends and dropped herself down into her chair to begin collecting her things. It was as she shoved her quills and ink into her bag that motion caught at the edge of her vision, and she looked up to see … something across from her. She immediately whipped out her wand.

Narcissa gave a shout as her wand light fell upon someone curled up and reading within a chair mere feet from her, and the small boy gave his own confused cry, attempting to shield the light from his eyes with his hands.

“Merlin!” The fifth-year brought an exasperated hand over her eyes, putting out the light. “You startled me! How is it that everyone is out of their beds tonight?”

The boy clutched his book to his still-heaving chest, seemingly unable to form words.

Narcissa squinted in the semi-darkness as her vision adjusted to the lack of light from her wand again. She recognized him, she thought. Dark, greasy hair and shy. One of the first-years that had been sorted earlier that week. She opened her mouth to shoo him off to his dormitory when she noticed the book still clutched in his hands.

“Is that my potions textbook?” she blinked at him, before turning to check the table and sift through her bag. “Did you rummage through my things?”

The boy quickly jumped up from his chair at her accusation.

“N-no! No, I would nev—” the dark-haired boy stammered out, “I found it open on the table there; I had no idea it was yours! I’d _never_ rummage through—” his throat choked up his words until he became unintelligible, so he swiftly stepped forward to hand the girl the textbook back. “Sorry,” he tried again, “here.”

Narcissa received the potions book and immediately held it close and protective to her chest. The slightly tattered copy from Slughorn had held her smuggled note from Lucius, among other things. Who knows what else he might have read while he was flipping through its pages.

“Sorry,” he said again, hanging his head at her continued silence.

Another thought filtered through her mind: “This is a sixth-year Potions textbook,” she did not acknowledge his apology. “It’s advanced reading for me as a fifth-year. What were you doing with it in the first place?”

The boy’s small, dark eyes lifted at her question.

“I, er, was reading?” he lilted into a question.

“And you understood it?” she tilted her head at him.

The boy gave a small shrug of his shoulder in affirmation, and Narcissa appraised him as the time piece on the wall softly ticked away the passing seconds.

“What’s your name?” she finally settled on her question.

“It’s …“ he hesitated at her interest, “it’s Severus. Severus Snape.”

Narcissa nodded without thinking, mentally filing away the information. She didn’t recognize the name ‘Snape’ as that of one of the wealthy families of Pureblood society, though it was possible that they were Pureblood and not wealthy. Fallen on hard times, perhaps, or simply foreign.

“I’m Narcissa,” she offered her own short introduction. “And I will look into finding a new copy for yourself, Severus,” she lifted the book in her hand, “though for now I think you ought to head up to bed.”

Severus brightened at the idea of receiving his own copy and moved to follow her direction to retire without protest. At the base of the staircase, however, he stopped and turned to the Prefect.

“Thank you, Narcissa,” his voice was small though no longer as apprehensive, and he gave an awkward wave before finally ascending the stairs to the boys’ dormitories.

Narcissa dropped into her wingback chair for the final time that night, sighing and leaning her head back against its embellished headrest. She flipped over to the eighth chapter of the text, the section devoted to love potions and other amorous concoctions, and found her note from Lucius still folded and wedged into its proper place. Relief flooded her system, and she was flipping through to another section of her book when the sound of creaking wood and footsteps sounded from across the room. Narcissa looked up, expecting to find Severus coming back down for some forgotten item, but was mistaken.

“Yvonne,” she said with some surprise. “What are you doing up?”

The girl descended the stairs in her pale gold nightgown, trailing her hand along the railing.

“I couldn’t sleep,” her silvery voice carried down into the Common Room.

“Ah, well, thank you,” she twisted her mouth sourly, “for bringing my things up for me. It’s much appreciated. I really do enjoy coming back from a patrol to find a first-year in possession of my things.”

Her snark did not seem to phase the other girl, however. Instead, she strolled down past the stairs and padded on slippered feet to stand behind the chair Severus had inhabited, hands set atop the thing’s headrest, as if waiting.

“What?” Narcissa sighed. “What is it?”

Yvonne ran her tongue across the inside of her cheek before answering.

“I know what you’ve been hiding.”

Narcissa’s heart skipped a beat in her chest. She closed her textbook and its eighth chapter with a soft, fabric-y _thud_.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she deflected.

Yvonne’s hair glowed a dull, burnished copper in the dim light of the fire, and her amber eyes lit up as she surveyed her friend with sobered awareness, despite her attire and the lateness of the evening. There was a gap in the conversation where it looked as if she would simply turn and head for the stairs, or at least Narcissa could only hope for as much, though finally after a heavily pregnant pause, Yvonne drew something out of her satin robe’s pocket.

Narcissa’s eyes flicked from the thin pack of letters neatly tied together in her hands to the other girl’s face and then back again to the letters. A clear expression of understanding crossed her face, and immediately her hands began to shake—rather with fear or rage she could not yet tell.

“You had no right—”

“Narcissa, please—” Yvonne started, coming around the chair.

“No!” The blonde shouted (so it was rage, then), and shadows darkened her expression as she turned away from the remnants of the fire. “You had _no_ right!” she punctuated the sentiment by stepping forward to snatch the letters from out of her hands, and Yvonne released them without protest. “Is this what you were doing after I left? You couldn’t bring my schoolbag up, but you could search through it at your leisure?”

“It was an accident, Narcissa, I promise,” the girl sought to persuade. “I _was_ putting your books and papers away, but when I picked up your potions book, the letters just … fell out. I was going to shove them back in when … I mean, I can recognize Andromeda’s handwriting! She tutored me in Charms; I didn’t even have to read them.”

“And did you?” Narcissa fingered the rough twine wrapped around each side of the letters.

Yvonne’s expression dropped to the floor at the question, and Narcissa instinctively scoffed at her friend’s admission of guilt, though she felt the prick of tears at the inner corners of her eyes.

“You didn’t have to read them, but you did anyway,” she said plainly, her voice thick, “and for what? Why betray my confidence, Yvonne? For curiosity?”

The fire reflected the copper and gold tones in her hair as she shook her head.

“Of course not! I just … I wanted to—” Yvonne searched around the room as if she would find the answer pinned to the notice board or stitched into the pattern of the drapery. “I wanted to _understand_ ,” she said with a heaviness. “Narcissa, you’ve ignored me since the beginning of summer, when everything started. You didn’t even tell me anything had happened! I had to find out like everyone else, through second-hand gossip.”

“Well, I’m sorry I couldn’t give you a hot, first-hand exclusive!” Narcissa spat venomously.

Yvonne visibly winced at her tone.

“That’s not what I meant—”

“What I think is that you’re jealous,” she interrupted. “You wanted the Prefect role so badly because your brother’s one as well, and I’m sorry,” Narcissa breathed out, “I really am, but I can’t believe you would let something so insignificant come between us!”

Her friend’s ears flushed pink at the accusation, and she took a deep, calming breath.

“This isn’t about the Prefect role,” she said slowly, though she did not attempt to deny her clear envy. “This is about the countless owls I sent you to see if you were okay, to see if there was anything that I could do for you. I know how close you are with your sisters, Narcissa, and I know that having to cut one of them out of your life isn’t something you can do with ease—or completely. I shouldn’t have read your private letters with Andromeda, and I am very, truly sorry,” she stepped forward to close the space between them, “but I promise you I would never tell a soul how you two were still corresponding.”

The fact that Narcissa kept in touch with a known blood-traitor risked compromising her own reputation, and if Walburga or the greater Pureblood society were ever made aware of their continued communication, her problems would only just be beginning.

“There was a time when we told each other everything,” Yvonne’s throat constricted over the words, vulnerable now that there was no one watching them. “You’re my best friend, Narcissa, and I thought … I thought we were family.”

Narcissa distantly felt Yvonne take her hands, though the weight of the night and everything that had transpired—atop the mountain of other events from the past week and the entire summer—kept her from refusing the contact. She heard the girl’s words with a lag from real-time, and it was a moment before she was able to bring her gaze back to her friend still waiting with bated breath.

“Family is family,” Narcissa said decidedly, slowly withdrawing her hands, “and I’m sorry that you felt otherwise.”

The words were a sharp slap across Yvonne’s face, and her lip trembled before she could master it. She gave a small sniff but straightened her back and attempted to slip her normal, haughty expression over the emotion hemorrhaging from every pore.

“All right,” she said, balling her fists up at her side, “if that is all you have to say on it then … goodnight.”

The fire had burnt out completely by now, but their years spent at Hogwarts together, huddled around their favorite spots at the fireplace and stretched out on the couches as they gossiped about boys and other Houses, saw Yvonne turn back around and head upstairs without the use of her wand.

Alone in the darkness now, with her friend’s footsteps fading into the night, Narcissa allowed herself to finally cry.


	4. Chapter 4

**November 1971**

The weather was poor just to spite her, Narcissa thought.

The sky was covered with grey sheets of clouds—very unlike the white, pillowy clouds of summer—that extinguished the sun and all its warmth. The effect was an empty, flint-colored sky that seemed to reflect back the same melancholy filling her chest and permeating through her limbs. Perhaps it was this cold every year, but the chill seemed to settle into her bones in a way it never had before now.

“Perfect conditions to see the match!” Fatima exclaimed. A nearby Hufflepuff student clapped their hands together to start circulating blood flow again. “A bit nippy, but there’ll be no glare from the sun, and the rain’s not set to start until later this afternoon.”

“ _Nippy?_ That’s certainly a word for it.” Verna gave a disbelieving snort, and the warmth of it immediately materialized in the chilly air as white vapor as if she were a dragon. Fatima fell into a fit of giggles at the sight, and the sound of the girl’s laughter had Verna succumbing, as well. The two girls, sandwiched in between a doubly silent Narcissa and Yvonne, carried on as they continued alongside a sea of students heading down the winding path to the Quidditch Pitch.

She chanced a sideways glance at Yvonne, who merely looked away once her attention was caught. Flexing her hands at her sides, Narcissa said a silent prayer of thanks for her gloves being charmed to stay perpetually warm.

* * *

“And that’s another point for Gryffindor!” The announcer’s excited voice rang throughout the stands, and the masses wearing red and gold-striped paraphernalia (the majority of the spectators) all jumped to their feet and broke out into a deafening cheer. “That makes three goals in the last ten minutes alone and puts the score at Gryffindor- 70, and Slytherin- 10!”

The Slytherin students all remained seated as the triumphant noise seemed to press in from all around them, as if gloating through sheer volume.

“Dear Morgana,” Verna cursed under her breath. “I don’t even care much about Quidditch, but this is terrible.”

“It’s awful!” Fatima slumped further into her seat as the three Gryffindor chasers all whizzed by with the Quaffle, streaks of green and silver following belatedly in hot pursuit. “The Gryffindor team isn’t even all that good this year, or at least they’re not as experienced since their last captain and half of their team graduated this past June. Ours has played together as a team for the last three years!”

“Minus Leggett,” the darker-haired tried to follow.

“Yes, minus Leggett,” Fatima pursed her lips and scanned the sky for whichever green blur he was. “How he managed to finagle his way onto the team—and become captain _,_ on top of that—I would love to know. He’s let the Gryffindors use the Hawkshead Attacking Formation _three times_ already! And if I have to watch another Porskoff Ploy, I don’t think I’ll—” the girl brought a hand to her forehead, clearly lost for words at the game she was watching.

Narcissa watched Evan and Wilkes both aim Bludgers at the Gryffindor captain as he zoomed steadily toward the goal hoops on the other side of the field.

“His father was on the Tornadoes,” she supplied, wincing as one of the Bludgers made contact with the arm the Gryffindor captain had secured around the Quaffle. The ball immediately flew from out of the boy’s grasp, and both teams’ chasers swarmed like a kicked hornet’s nest to recover it.

“Where’d you hear that?” Fatima seemed shocked at the news, though her gaze was still locked on the back and forth over the Quaffle, and she edged closer to get a better look at the field.

“Yes,” Yvonne, the finest purveyor of gossip Slytherin House had thus far seen, turned to her now in question, “where? I’d have known about it if it were true.”

Narcissa made a face at her friend’s assertion, looking past Fatima and Verna to find her.

“You aren’t the oracle of all truth and knowledge at Hogwarts, Yvonne.”

“THE QUAFFLE’S BEEN INTERCEPTED BY SLYTHERIN!” the announcer’s voice boomed at the development. “LESTRANGE IS IN POSESSION!”

Yvonne gave a short, dangerous laugh.

“Of course not,” she said with a feline grin. “I’m just curious as to how you have so many secrets all of a sudden.”

“GRYFFINDOR TAKES IT BACK! JOHNSON’S IN POSESSION!”

“It’s no secret,” Narcissa bristled, “perhaps you simply don’t eavesdrop as well as you thought you did. Or you’ve gone through the wrong person’s mail.” She said pointedly.

“LESTRANGE IS IN POSSESSION AGAIN!”

“I don’t—” Yvonne began to argue, her collected expression dropping in anger at the accusation, before drawing herself up again. “Well, if you didn’t hear it from the three of us, _enlighten_ me. Who did you hear it from then?”

“NOW JOHNSON!”

“I—” Narcissa’s heart stuttered at the question, and her mind quickly raced for any answer other than the truth that Lucius had told her. “I—it was … Dumbledore,” she said somewhat unconvincingly. “Dumbledore told me.”

“LEGGETT, THE SLYTHERIN CAPTAIN, HAS STOLEN THE QUAFFLE—”

“Dumbledore!” Yvonne laughed. “So he gossips with his students in his off-time, does he?”

Verna turned her dark, almond-shaped eyes away from the game on the field as her friends’ voices rose.

“—BUT TALBOT KNOCKS THE BALL FROM HIS HANDS! CAPTAIN GOULD IS IN POSESSION!”

Narcissa narrowed her eyes at Yvonne’s derision.

“No, but he speaks to his Prefects and keeps them informed on the news of the school, as it pertains to our duties,” she said tersely. “I asked why Leggett was made Captain because I was curious and this is my team; and he told me that Leggett had made a bid for the position since his father was on the Tornadoes. Evidently, this convinced both Slughorn and Dumbledore, so I’m sorry if there isn’t enough conspiracy there to satisfy your appetite, but that’s what happened!”

Her voice had steadily risen in volume until many of the Slytherin students surrounding them in the stands began turning their attention away from the Quidditch game to instead watch the two girls’ back-and-forth.

“GOULD BREAKS AWAY AND HEADS FOR THE— YES, IT’S A GOAL!!” the announcer’s voice was quickly drowned out by an uproar from the opposing team’s fans. “The Gryffindor Captain’s just scored the eighth goal for his team! Which leaves the score at—wait, just a moment—”

“Oh, no,” Fatima murmured, bringing a gloved hand over her eyes.

“It looks as though Malfoy, the Slytherin Seeker, has pulled away to row with his own team’s Captain!” the announcer couldn’t quite keep all of the amusement from his voice.

“What?” Narcissa turned at the sound of the name, and the remaining Slytherins also turned to see, as well, if they weren’t already watching what was unfolding. From the stands, it was difficult to see what exactly was happening, though it did seem that the two boys were heatedly arguing on their broomsticks.

Lucius, his icy hair tied back with a ribbon, was enthusiastically jabbing his finger in Stephen Leggett’s direction, and the darker-haired boy was gesturing around the both of them and shouting back at him. When Lucius seemed to yell … something—Narcissa could not hear them from the stands—that had Leggett spinning his broom around and throwing up a vulgar gesture behind him, it was only the Quidditch referee flying over and sounding a noise with her wand that kept the blond from chasing him.

“Oh! And Madame Hooch just barely saves the team from receiving a foul! Questionable decision, Madame!” the echoing voice laughed, and received their own warning gesture from the woman.

Narcissa furrowed her brow as she watched Lucius make a loop around the field, the small Gryffindor Seeker trailing him as they both scanned the dim skies.

“Lucius needs to ignore Leggett and focus on finding the Golden Snitch,” Fatima rolled her lips inward as the Chasers on both teams struggled over the Quaffle once more, and began to wring her hands together as Gryffindor again gained possession of it.

Verna nodded.

“It looks like he wants to give them plays to run, but likely all he’s doing is dividing their loyalty to Leggett and confusing them,” the darker girl considered.

“It’s not Lucius’ fault!” Narcissa’s knee-jerk reaction was to defend him, though at her friends’ curious looks over to her, she quickly followed it up with, “I just don’t think it’s fair to put the onus of blame on Lucius when Leggett is the Captain. If he can’t maintain authority or control, that’s a fault in his leadership.”

Fatima and Verna seemed content with her explanation, though Yvonne scoffed but otherwise remained silent.

“That’s true,” Fatima agreed. “Hopefully if his leadership’s poor enough, Slughorn will replace him with someone who actually knows how to be Captain. We only get four games to play, and he’s lousing this one up.”

“I don’t see why we don’t just cheat,” Verna mumbled into her hand.

“Verna!” Fatima gave a scandalized gasp, as if violating the rules of Quidditch were an offense to her personally, and Yvonne snorted.

“What? It’s cold!” she defended, throwing her hands up. “And I would like to make it to Hogsmeade before the rain starts pouring and ruins the afternoon.”

“Because we don’t _need_ to cheat!” the girl whipped her strawberry blonde hair around to hiss. “We have the superior team already! We have the more experienced players, expensive equipment, longer practices, refined technique—” Fatima’s fanatical tangent had Narcissa tuning out of the conversation. Rather, she set her gaze on the blackened storm clouds beginning to gather on the horizon and thought back to breakfast in the Great Hall that morning.

Amidst the multiple copies of _Witch Weekly_ and the _Prophet_ , a small brown owl had deposited a letter in front of her and happily tittered away, and though the envelope would appear to anyone around her to have been sent by her parents, her parents had yet to have written her a single letter this year. The signatures were Andromeda’s (extremely convincing) forgery, she recognized—as had Yvonne. 

Narcissa brought her gaze down from the clouds and found the girl staring at her, as if merely thinking on her had summoned her attention. The blonde swallowed, and this time it was her turn to glance away.

A moment later, the crowd erupted into cheers, though this time it was the Slytherin students leaping to their feet in celebration and raucous applause.

“What happened?” Narcissa turned to Fatima, who had already leapt to her feet. The girl whooped and jumped before turning back to her with a grin.

“Lucius finally caught the Snitch!” she said, waving her striped green and silver banner around in triumph. “We’ve won, 160 points to 80!”

Narcissa nodded, slowly rising from the stands.

“Thank Merlin,” she breathed.

* * *

The Quidditch Pitch slowly began to empty out its stands. Professor Slughorn and Professor McGonagall shook hands to formally conclude the match, though the latter gave a particularly sour twist of her mouth. The departing Gryffindor students fared no better, and many passing Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws headed back to the castle with disappointment rife on their half-frozen faces.

The Slytherins were the only ones left in high spirits, and their smug expressions at their team’s victory couldn’t be dampened by the onset of small water droplets beginning to pepper the crowd of students from the dark clouds above-head.

Fatima twirled, her skirt billowing up and circling around her as she danced along the path back up toward the castle.

“First win of the season!” she proclaimed with pride, and a passing group of students wearing red and gold rolled their eyes and quickly skirted around their Slytherin group.

“And just in time for us to duck out of the rain,” Verna quipped. “We should send Lucius a fruit basket or something for his wonderful timing.”

Yvonne gave a small, amused smile beside her.

“We’ll have to grab our coats before we head to Hogsmeade, but we can use that water resistance charm we learned last year until we get to the village,” she said.

Narcissa shifted her gaze to Fatima dancing ahead of her and took a bracing breath.

“You know, I don’t think I’ll head out with you all this time,” she started slowly. “I’m going to stay in the Common Rooms and—”

“Read some more?” Verna guessed with a sigh. “You never put that Merlin-forsaken potions book down. I know our O.W.L’s are important but—”

“Narcissa!” Fatima ceased her happy twirling and came to a halt before her so that the blonde had to abruptly stop. The students behind them made a noise of irritation before parting around them. “You’ve hardly left the dungeons unless it’s for meals, class, or your Prefect duties,” the girl frowned, “and you promised you’d come this time!”

“I didn’t … promise,” Narcissa’s tone fell with her guilt at splitting hairs.

“If it’s the company you’re trying to avoid,” Yvonne curled her lip, “by all means, just say so, and I’ll find other plans.”

Narcissa dropped her head back slightly with an annoyed groan.

“This, like most things, isn’t about you, Yvonne—!”

“Oh, I can’t keep doing this,” Verna cut the both of them off with a clipped tone. “If you two are having problems, you need to work through whatever it is that’s happened because you are driving the both of us to the brink of madness!” Fatima shifted her glance between Yvonne and Narcissa before sheepishly looking away, and when neither of the girls said anything, Verna gave them a withering look.

“Well?”

Fatima examined the dirt stuck to the tip of her patent leather shoes, while Yvonne set her jaw, unwilling to speak, and stared past Verna’s shoulder without actually looking at her. Narcissa bit the inside of her lip before moving.

“ _Well_ ,” she sighed, and each of the girls’ eyes instantly turned to her, “I’m going to go find Professor Slughorn. I have a question about one of our extra credit assignments.” Verna threw her hands up as Narcissa began walking back toward the Quidditch Pitch grounds they’d just left. “Be careful in the rain, and … have fun shopping,” she finished lamely, before turning her back on her friends and heading back down to the stands.

* * *

Narcissa did indeed meet Professor Slughorn as she approached the banner-covered stadium, though she offered him no more than a polite wave and a ‘Hello, Professor’ before he began his wobbly trek back up to the castle. Rather, she headed for the smaller, tent-like structures on the field that the Quidditch teams used for changing into and out of their uniforms.

Lucius had stormed from the field following their win, disappearing into the changing rooms while Leggett and the other members of the Slytherin team flew their victory laps and celebrated on the field. The field now, though, was devoid of any witch, wizard, or magical individual, and even the Quaffle, Bludgers, and Snitch had been stowed away for the next game later that month.

The silver and emerald-threaded banners swayed gently in the breeze as Narcissa approached her team’s changing rooms. She paused outside of its entrance, mentally formulating an excuse for her presence, when one of the tent flaps was pushed aside to reveal none other than the Captain himself.

“Narcissa—” Stephen Leggett blinked his surprise, before trying to recover by leaning into one of the support beams with a manufactured casualness. Shirtless, he crossed his admittedly robust arms across his bare chest and gave her a lazy smile. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Narcissa made a face at his phrasing but responded. “I just came to see Evan,” she said.

“Oh?” A look of disappointment briefly flickered across his face as he dropped his hands from his chest. “Are you two—are you involved, or … ?”

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“He’s my cousin.”

“Ah! Of course,” Leggett brightened at that, crossing his arms so that his lily-white biceps flexed into her view again. Narcissa peered around the boy, scanning the space behind him for Lucius, but only finding discarded Quidditch robes and broomsticks. Leggett tilted his head to catch her attention once again.

In his leaning closer, she could see in clear detail the perspiration still plastering his fallow-ish brown hair to his forehead while the rest that had been blown about by the wind was sticking in every which direction. Narcissa took a step back, keeping her distance and willing herself not to breathe in the musty smell of his sweat too deeply.

“Evan must be busy,” she attempted to disengage, beginning to turn to leave, “so I shan’t keep you from finishing, as well.” She could always find Lucius later.

Before she could fully turn away, however, Leggett closed the remaining distance between them to catch her arm and keep her from leaving—a romantic gesture only in novels but never in reality.

“Narcissa, wait!” the girl looked from the hand at her forearm to the boy bold enough to attempt as much with some shock, but mostly contempt. Leggett, though, did not seem to notice. “I’ve been meaning to catch you alone.”

“Oh?” Narcissa quickly removed her arm from his touch without her normal elegance, her tone shifting from heavy annoyance to anger at the situation.

“Yes!” he broke into a slanted grin, moving the hand he’d set at her arm to rest behind his head more demurely. “You’re not the easiest girl to get ahold of.”

She was nearly always in the Common Room with one of her friends, Narcissa thought, though she supposed he meant that she wasn’t as easy to corner alone. It was only her long-ingrained manners that kept her from voicing that thought aloud.

At her persisting silence, Leggett changed tactics.

“Well … did you watch the game?” he squared his shoulders a bit to puff his chest out with pride. “I scored that first goal just for you, y’know?”

Narcissa felt some of her consciousness leave her body at the boy’s boast: first, that he would feel such pride in his terrible performance that he felt justified in bragging about it to her; and second, that he thought dedicating the first—and only—goal scored before the capture of the Snitch to her could at all come off as a compliment that would ingratiate him to her.

“Is that so?” her voice felt rather far away.

“And, in fact, I was wondering if you wouldn’t want to join me on a trip to Hogsmeade today,” he offered with confidence. “We could grab some butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks or go to that tea shop you girls seem to like.”

Narcissa let out a small, breathy laugh before she could help herself, and Leggett’s smile slowly slipped from his face. But really, what did he expect? Asking a Black on a date?

“I’m sorry,” she tried to master her expression with only mild success, “it’s just that I have plans already to study back in the dungeons this afternoon.”

“Study?” Leggett said with a note of disbelief. He blinked in confusion, before recovering enough to glance back up to her with fresh optimism. “Perhaps next weekend? After the match with Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw? We could have a laugh about it afterwards.”

Narcissa gave a sigh.

“I also have plans to study next weekend, as well,” she told him truthfully, and this had Leggett shaking his head.

“Should I bother asking about the weekend after, or shall you be studying then, too?” he said facetiously and narrowed his eyebrows down angrily. “I’m Quidditch Captain, you know?” Leggett continued in frustration. “I may not have the _ancient lineage_ of the House of Black, but your sister married a mudblood!” he pointed an accusatory finger at her. “You’re low-hanging fruit that I’m just now high enough to pluck with my position on the Quidditch team! I wouldn’t stick my nose up so high if I were you.”

He described her as having all the grace of a cantaloupe, though it was the nonchalant inclusion of her sister’s marriage that had heat prickling beneath her skin and the tang of a venomous insult readied on her tongue.

Narcissa breathed in a long, shaky breath and exhaled in an attempt to temper herself. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her come undone over a few hurtful words.

“I’m sorry you feel slighted, Leggett, but my O.W.L’s and my future are more important to me than grabbing a butterbeer with you after Quidditch, and now that I’m ‘low-hanging fruit’,” she mimicked his turn of phrase with a flippant edge, “you’ll understand that I must properly study for my O.W.L’s like everyone else.”

Leggett opened his mouth, perhaps to defend himself or perhaps to apologize, though Narcissa turned on her heel and marched back up the path to the castle before he could get the words out.

* * *

The Common Room was emptier than usual. Many of the older students had already made their way down to the village for shopping and food, while the younger students, their morale high from their win at the match, happily caught a late lunch in the Great Hall and cavorted around the courtyards with their friends. As it was, only two students had yet to empty out of the Common Room that Saturday afternoon.

Narcissa curled up on the couch Verna and Yvonne would normally occupy. Her Merino wool sweater was delightfully soft against her skin as she flipped through her potions book and warmed up by the fire. Severus sat in his usual wingback chair, his large nose buried in his new copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_.

She shifted positions on the leather couch, unaccustomed to having so much room by herself, and Severus looked up at the noise.

“Where is everyone?” the boy asked. “Verna, Fatima, and Yvonne? You normally aren’t without at least one member of your posse.” 

Narcissa crossed one trousered leg over another as she laid back on the couch.

“They aren’t my posse,” she flipped another page, unbothered, “and they’re in Hogsmeade, shopping for pretty dress robes.”

Severus made a small, interested noise at that.

“Is that why you were so angry earlier?” he thought aloud. “Because they went to shop for pretty dress robes without you?”

“Merlin, no,” Narcissa made a face at that. “I’m not so petty as all that. I already have so many, _many_ pretty dress robes that I didn’t’ feel particularly inclined to join them today.”

The boy shifted his gaze from the lines of text over to where his friend sat beside him.

“But you were upset,” Severus sought to confirm, and he watched as she dropped her book a little at the question.

“It … wasn’t about Yvonne this time, for the most part,” Narcissa relayed slowly. Her eyes traveled to the fire as her mind flitted through the day’s events, and her frown had a small wrinkle puckering her forehead. “Leggett asked me to join him at Hogsmeade and made a point to mention my sister’s marriage from over the summer.” She shook her head at the thought. “It was stupid, but it put me in a sour mood.”

A look of understanding dawned Severus’ small face, and he returned to his own reading once more.

“Leggett likes to talk down to younger students,” he told her, “especially first-years.”

“Colour me shocked,” Narcissa mumbled, and the boy gave a short breath of laughter.

“Besides, how could he ever hope to have a chance with you?” he attempted to comfort. “Not when you’re already seeing Lucius Malfoy.”

Narcissa flipped a page before what the boy had said fully processed in her mind, though once those cogs had turned, she blinked and made to right herself on the couch.

“Sev,” she started calmly, closing her textbook with a soft _thud_ and turning to him, “how the hell could you know that?”

His dark eyes peered over the top of his new book to meet hers. He lowered his book only slightly so that she could see his face.

“The night we met,” he explained, “you had come back to the Common Room late at night, and I smelled his cologne on you. Lucius was the one to show us the male dormitory, so I just … connected those two pieces for myself.”

“You remembered his cologne?” Narcissa tried to understand.

“It’s likely the most expensive cologne I’ve ever smelled,” Severus shrugged in answer, and the blonde gave an exasperated sigh. “I won’t tell anyone,” he offered at her response, “you needn’t worry.”

Narcissa nodded at him.

“I know I can trust you, Severus,” she gave a small smile, though the thought of yet another person knowing of their relationship had an uncomfortable feeling turning in her stomach.

As the two of them settled into silent reading once more, Narcissa slid out an envelope that had been wedged in between two pages of her book. Though only having been received hours ago, the parchment paper was already beginning to smooth from constant handling.

_My Darling Cissy,_

_I was surprised to hear that you’ve entered into, in your own words, a serious relationship, though I couldn’t be more thrilled for you if they truly make you happy and treat you with respect. I’ll even let you hold onto the secret of who this person is—if only for the time being (I shall find out who they are eventually!)._

_As for your request for advice: I know you’ve said that you would like to keep this relationship a secret, but I would urge you to consider the long-term ramifications both to yourself and to the relationship itself. Hiding something so personal and important can take a heavy toll, and if you love this person, it’s worth braving any blowback from family, or anyone else._

_If you do still decide to keep up this secret, however, my advice would be to find a hobby that allows you to excuse yourself whenever you need, as to avoid suspicion from those around you. There are those with a knack for picking up on deception, and you aren’t one particularly gifted with that, so you must be careful, Cissy._

_As always, I miss you and love you to the stars—and back!_

_Forever your loving sister,_

_Andy_

Narcissa leaned back into the couch, pressing the letter to her chest and breathing in the warm, comforting amber scent of her sister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is interested, I do have a semi-active tumblr blog called narcissaesthetics that I post aesthetic things to for inspiration when writing. I considered posting updates there so that you could get an idea of when I plan to post.
> 
> I also have a Lucissa playlist:  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0XaTvRdHwsARZlu40c4v19?si=E5wtd8L3TTC1n8E1RFiwnA
> 
> Small presents for taking so long to update :o)


	5. Chapter 5

**December 1971**

Early morning light filtered in through the third-floor classroom’s windows. The white rays fell through large panes of glass to scatter atop the desks and the backs of many students’ heads. Full up on breakfast and bundled up in their heavy sweaters and robes, both Hufflepuff and Slytherin students alike took to dozing off back to sleep as Professor Binns began his first lesson of the day.

Narcissa, rather than setting her face on a desk occupied by Merlin-knows-who before her, gave a casual flick of her wand, and her copy of the _Daily Prophet_ unfurled itself from inside of her school bag to open and obediently settle before her. The sound of others doing the same filled the room, though the spectral figure of the professor did not seem to notice his students flipping through their copies of _Witch Weekly_ or finishing coursework from other subjects.

The front page of the _Prophet_ flashed an image of what appeared to be a Muggle townhouse, with the photographer slowly closing in to the front door left ajar. The headline above it proclaimed in bold letter type: MUGGLE FAMILIES ATTACKED: 9 DEAD!

Flipping through to the article, Narcissa skimmed its minimal content and learned little more than what the headline offered. It appeared to have been normal Muggle families not at all involved with the magical world, though evidence of magical torture and killing were found from their remains. Nowhere in the account did they mention a reason for the deaths, nor did they mention a positive identification of the parties responsible. Checking once more that her eldest sister’s name was absent, Narcissa tapped her manicured nails on her desk and let her mind drift.

She’d not received any correspondence from Bellatrix in months, and she had no idea of her whereabouts to send anything else herself. The letters sent to her flat in London over the summer had gone unanswered, and it was only from a letter at the start of term congratulating Narcissa on her fifth year at Hogwarts and Prefect role that she knew her sister to be alive, at the very least.

It was while staring at the light shimmering through Professor Binns that a fluttering noise caught Narcissa’s attention. Dropping her elbows from her desk, she looked over to find a hummingbird, crafted from folded-over parchment, flitting about with its paper wings to try and catch her attention.

Narcissa set out her hand, and the thing immediately ceased its flying to land in her palm. Plucking one of its wings with delicate fingers, the parchment fully unfolded to reveal a letter familiarly scrawled in deep purple ink.

_Narcissa—_

_Have you decided who you’re bringing to Slughorn’s holiday party??_

_—Fatima xx_

The blonde closed her eyes before looking over to where her friend sat at the desk to her right. Fatima waved enthusiastically before motioning with her quill that she would like a reply.

Narcissa reached down into her bag to procure her quill and ink, and by the time she returned to set it on her desk, another parchment figure was prowling over her desk—this one in the shape of a jaguar. Its tiny paws crunched into the parchment of the open note beneath it, and when Narcissa plucked the end of the thing’s tail, it gave a miniscule roar but revealed the note written within.

_Narcissa—_

_Who are you bringing to the Slug’s holiday party?_

_—Verna_

She glanced up with a roll of her eyes and looked to her left, where her other friend sat with crossed legs and gave a short wave, unaffected by her obvious annoyance.

Drawing her wand up, Narcissa muttered a spell under her breath and tapped both papers with the lit end of her wand. The notes dimly glowed from top to bottom for a moment before dimming down to normal again, and when she began to write her response on one piece of parchment, a twin copy appeared on the other in time with her writing.

_No._

_—Narcissa_

She tapped the tops of the paper, and the parchment began folding itself back into the shapes of a hummingbird and a jaguar, with both flying and pouncing off to their respective owners.

Fatima gave an affronted squeak at her response, while Verna gave a short, dry laugh, and before they could pick up their quills to grill her further (and send her a menagerie of notes), Narcissa pulled a fresh piece of parchment and muttered another enchantment to match the first so that they could communicate without constantly shuttling notes back and forth. She dipped her quill into her inkpot, and as she began scritching her response, her words materialized on the papers of the other girls.

_Who are you going with?_

_—Narcissa_

Leggett had been the first person to ask her, of course … though she had also turned down Nott, McNair, and Jugson.

_Wilkes._

_—Verna_

_Mulciber!_

_—Fatima xx_

Narcissa did a double-take at the latter’s response.

_What happened to Avery?_

_—Narcissa_

_Long story! And I’ll tell you about our disagreement later, but Mulciber’s nice enough._

_—Fatima xx_

_They broke up ages ago, Narcissa._

_—Verna_

Narcissa frowned at that but continued.

_I’m sorry, Fatima. I should’ve known._

_—Narcissa_

_Oh, it’s fine! I’m not all that broken up about it, really._

_—Fatima xx_

_That’s her eternal optimism speaking._

_—Verna_

_Better than eternal pessimism!_

_—Fatima xx_

_If you say so, darling._

_—Verna_

Narcissa smiled to herself, before a thought struck her.

_What about Yvonne? Has she gotten a date yet?_

_—Narcissa_

_Oh, of course. Found one almost immediately._

_—Verna_

_But she won’t tell us who it is yet. She says it’s a surprise._

_—Fatima xx_

_Of course it is._

_—Narcissa_

Evan, his face planted to his desk in his slumber, gave a long, heavy snore from his spot right in front of his cousin and caused everyone in the otherwise silent classroom to jump.

_Circe, have mercy._

_—Verna_

_I think I’m going to finish some Transfiguration work._

_—Narcissa_

_Good luck!_

_—Fatima xx_

_You have our regards._

_—Verna_

Narcissa mastered the urge to roll her eyes once more and summoned her Transfiguration textbook from her bag when Evan gave another drawn-out snore, this one more of a higher-pitched whistling. Tapping her wand against the stack of parchment once more, the papers began folding themselves over until two pristine swans were gently flapping their wings and wading across her desk as if it were a lake. Narcissa affectionately rubbed the tip of her index finger over their beaks as they basked in the sunshine falling down from the window.

After a short moment of appreciation, a flick of her wrist saw her paper swans flying across her desk to her cousin’s helpless form slumped over his desk, where one of the things began biting his ear and the other lashing out with its neck.

“ _Eugh!_ ” the boy shot up from his seat, his hair mussed from sleep as he shooed the beasts away. “What in—"

Those students that had decided to remain conscious broke into a peal of laughter, though Professor Binns never turned around.

* * *

“Why does Binns even need a chair, I wonder?” Lucius leaned back into the professor’s chair, bringing both hands to the arm rests at its sides. The ancient leather was soft from wear over time and complained under the weight of an occupant—likely the first occupant it’d had in quite a long time.

The moon was a small sliver of light hung in an otherwise inky black sky, with dark clouds shielding the bright twinkling of the stars. The solitary light cast a column of moonlight down on the classroom and threw everything into a white, ghostly pallor.

“Well,” Narcissa, flushed from their previous activity and perched on the edge of an equally ancient desk, offered her thoughts. “I suppose it lends the classroom a sense of normalcy. How strange would it be to have a professor hovering at his desk for the entirety of the lesson? Flying through the blackboard is enough of a distraction already.”

Lucius settled more into the chair, leaning further back.

“Fair enough,” he gave a grin and reached for her hand to draw her closer. “Regardless, I’m glad to be done with this class. I got my O.W.L for History of Magic and never planned on coming back here again.”

Narcissa surrendered her hand to him without protest and let herself slide down from the desk to her boyfriend’s lap, her legs straddling his thighs. The chair gave a harsher squeal and leaned them further back with her additional weight.

“My apologies then,” she leaned into his chest to say, “for forcing you back here against your better judgement.”

Lucius let his eyes shut for a moment at her closeness and felt light fingertips push the hair from out over his brow. When he peered out through blond lashes, he could just barely make out Narcissa’s small, rounded lips in the semi-darkness.

“Apology accepted,” he brushed a kiss against her lips, which she returned in earnest with a quickly returning flush to her cheeks.

“Speaking of places we’d rather not be …” he lifted his jaw to accommodate the path of her kisses down to his throat, and Narcissa felt his words vibrate through to her lips with some satisfaction. “Have you any holiday plans this year?”

The shift in subject had her pausing and pulling back to properly find his face. With his eyes still shut, she saw the pale light of the moon wash over him, highlighting the sharpest points of his angular features and carving out the remainder in dark shadow. Narcissa let herself appreciate the contrast for just a moment, before his eyes fluttered open and prompted her back to conversation.

“Well,” she sighed out, “I haven’t heard anything from my parents, but … this will be the first winter holiday without Andy, and it’s likely Bella won’t make an appearance.” She frowned at the thought. “And Aunt Walburga’s still at odds with Sirius, so I’m sure I’ll be spending the holidays looking after my parents and keeping those two from throttling one another. Hopefully Uncle Alphard will be able to assist,” she voiced somewhat doubtfully.

Lucius’s eyes, normally a slate grey, were illuminated brighter beneath the light from the window, and he set his pearly gaze on Narcissa’s wilting expression as she talked of her plans.

“You could always stay in Wiltshire over the winter holiday,” he offered, his voice rising hopefully. “It will be just myself and my father this year without Mother, and, well … my father wouldn’t notice. He never—” Lucius stopped just short of finishing that line of thought, pressing his thin lips together.

“I only mean, if you would like some _peace …_ ” he tried to redirect, shaking his head. “I cannot imagine having so much family.”

Narcissa’s lips twitched up into a smile at that.

“It’s really not so bad,” she defended. “I find comfort in having so many people to love and support, and who, in turn, love and support me. Aunt Walburga, Uncle Alphard, my father and mother, and my sisters … we’re all different, and our personalities clash at times, but we understand one another. It’s a comfortable chaos,” she tried to convey.

“Which is why Andy leaving …” she rolled her lips inward, letting her head fall to rest in the crook of his neck out of habit, “… it was destabilizing—like a wheel losing a spoke. Yes, you have more, but now everything’s thrown off-balance.”

And now she had to compensate for the gap Andy had left in all of their lives.

“I would love to spend winter holidays with you, Lucius—truly, I would,” Narcissa lifted her gaze to his, “but my family needs me.”

Lucius gave her small hand a soft squeeze of recognition. 

“Narcissa, I understand, and I would never ask you to put me before your family.”

Narcissa squeezed back, a tense knot building in her stomach as she thought on what she was about to ask.

“If … you would like,” she carefully measured her words aloud, “you could join us at Grimmauld Place for our Midwinter’s celebration, or simply stop and visit at my family home, the Black Estate, if you’d rather not mingle with Sirius or my aunt and uncle.”

The lighter blond blinked at her proposition, releasing his grip on their joined hands for just a moment as he thought.

“Surely,” he vocalized slowly, his thoughts flowing from his mind to his mouth without filter, “ _surely_ , your parents would notice my attendance, if I were to visit for an extended amount of time.” He furrowed his brow. “And after, well … we discussed during the summer how we had wanted to approach our relationship, but—have you … do you want people to know now?”

Narcissa’s heart thudded in her chest at his hesitance.

“I’m not saying we shouldn’t,” Lucius tried to clarify, pulling her hand closer to his heart, “I’m not against people knowing at all. It’s just … the last time we talked of this, we had agreed that it would be easier to keep things private, to avoid further speculation after everything—all of the gossip and meddling—that happened following the news of your sister and my mother. Have … have you changed your mind?”

“I—” Narcissa’s lips parted to speak, though she found her throat constricting, hindering the effort. “I … am not sure,” she admitted.

Lucius let a thumb rub over one of her knuckles.

“If you would like, we could tell everyone tomorrow. Merlin, _tonight_ , even,” he offered. “I just want you to be able to go forward with a clear understanding of what would happen, which, _well_ , for starters, there would be those that would insist I’m only dating you because you resemble my mother, and that I’m using you to fill that void in my life.”

“And that I’m only dating you to distract from the terrible match my sister made,” Narcissa sighed, “I know.” She cast her gaze out toward the moon, singular and alone. 

Should her parents or, even worse, _Walburga_ discover their secret, too, the pressure to rectify the mistakes made by Andromeda and restore their reputations in Pureblood Society by attaching herself to a Malfoy would risk straining the one smooth relationship she’d had since everything had unraveled at the start of summer.

Were they strong enough to weather all of that unscathed?

“Narcissa?”

The girl swallowed, though the dryness stuck in her throat despite her effort.

 _I don’t know_.

“I … think we should wait,” she finally managed to summon the word from deep within the knot in her stomach. “I want to tell people, to stop meeting in locked classrooms, but I don’t think it’s the right time.”

Lucius took in her words, breathing in long with a slight nod, before pressing a kiss to her temple.

* * *

The arched ceiling of the Great Hall was a soft, wintery grey. The early morning sun painted the horizon with strokes of yellow chiffon and blush, and the enchantment of the hall shook the odd snowflake down onto the students below.

The atmosphere amongst the houses that morning was especially relaxed, as both the end of the week and the beginning of the winter holidays kindled a longing for relaxation and time away from their studies. Many of the students were grouped together as Narcissa entered, hot mugs of hot chocolate grasped tightly in their hands as they chatted merrily about holiday presents and family.

“At last!” Fatima punctuated Narcissa’s arrival to the table with an exasperated look to the girl. 

The blonde paused before slowly taking her seat beside Verna and her cousin.

“What?” she glanced between Fatima and Verna, and then quickly to Yvonne as they all stared. “Am I supposed to guess?”

“Were you up late last night?” Yvonne arched a dark auburn brow at her, spearing a grape onto her fork.

“You were impossible to wake this morning,” Verna jumped in before Narcissa could properly respond with snark. “We tried,” and her tone reflected sincerity, “but you refused to move and flicked your curtains closed with a spell so that we couldn’t disturb you.”

“Ah,” Narcissa’s voice was just a touch shrill, the love bites at the base of her throat tingling at the memory of the night before, “I don’t really— _well_ , anyway, what were you all—”

“ _Dresses!_ ” Fatima banged her dainty fists on the table so hard that their goblets and Yvonne’s plate shuddered at the force. The redhead shot her a look that the girl ignored, she was so intently staring down Narcissa.

“… dresses?” Narcissa cocked her head in some question.

Fatima opened her mouth as if she were about to explode into an explanation, and Yvonne picked up her plate from the table in preparation, though Verna turned to her before the other girl could shatter the sound barrier.

“For the Slug Club party,” she supplied smoothly. “We were discussing what we are all wearing to the Slug Club party this weekend.”

Fatima visibly deflated at the quick explanation but settled into her seat once more and sipped at what pumpkin juice was left in her own goblet. Yvonne set her plate and fork back down onto the table.

“And since you decided not to join us for shopping when we bought ours, we were curious as to what exactly you are going to wear,” she folded her hands in her lap with a pointed look.

A few students began trickling from the hall, having finished their breakfast and hoping to get an early start on their classes. Narcissa grabbed a roll to stuff into her school bag to eat during History of Magic.

“I don’t know,” she said off-hand, grabbing an apple and stuffing that into her bag too.

All three of the other girls’ faces dropped in shock both at her answer and the nonchalance with which it was delivered, though it was Yvonne who found her voice first.

“You don’t know?” she repeated with an air of suspicion. “Or you just don’t want to tell us?”

“Not everything is some big secret, Yvonne,” Narcissa did not raise her voice, though her tone was sufficient in delivering her annoyance. “Though while on the subject, have you told us who it is you’re taking to the Slug Party, or is _that_ still a secret?”

Yvonne pursed her lips at her tone but eventually let a smirk come to replace it at her last question, obviously pleased that the blonde had thought enough about her to bring it up again.

“Do you at least have a date, Narcissa?” Fatima asked to break the tension.

“I … well—” she hesitated.

“Dear Morgana,” Verna rolled her eyes up to the ceiling, “you’re going naked _and_ alone!”

“No!” Narcissa defended weakly. “No, no, just give me one— _Evan!_ ”

Golden-haired Evan Rosier, a spoon of porridge perched and ready to enter his open mouth, looked over to where he had heard his name and gave a nod of recognition. He took a bite of his food.

“Yes, my darling cousin?” As he grinned, bits of porridge stuck to his normally immaculate teeth, and Verna _tsk_ -ed at the image, the other girls looking away in disgust.

Unperturbed, Narcissa leaned in and wordlessly slid him a cloth napkin.

“Evan,” she started, “I need you to accompany me to Slughorn’s party.”

The boy slapped a hand over his chest, just covering his heart.

“I’m touched, cousin!” his chest expanded with bombast, and he took the napkin she proffered with a jaunty laugh, emphatically wiping at both corners of his mouth in a caricature of manners. “I truly am, but you attacked me with swans.” He said matter-of-factly.

Yvonne snorted, and Narcissa threw her a cutting glare.

“’Attack’ is a bit of an exaggeration, Evan,” she couldn’t quite keep the annoyance out of her voice, “considering they were made of parchment.” And his snoring had been obnoxious.

“Oh, but it’s the thought that counts!” Evan disagreed. “And while the Blacks are wont to marry their own first cousins, the Rosiers must draw the line somewhere—”

“But—”

Evan put up a hand to stop her, letting some of his cheeky demeanor slip away in the face of her protests.

“I also already have my own date,” he tried more candidly.

It was Verna’s turn to react, however.

“You _what?_ ” her dark face fell with her shock. “I didn’t know you had a friend other than Narcissa and your own right hand!”

Narcissa sighed, shutting her eyes momentarily, though she could practically hear Evan’s pouting at her friend’s jab.

“Who are you going with, Evan?” she asked, tone somewhat defeated.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” the boy bristled back at the raven-haired girl, “I’m a catch, you know!”

Narcissa opened her eyes to find her cousin in the final stages of packing his school bag, already halfway standing up from the table.

“Apologies, Cissy, but it’s now a secret,” Evan threw his bag over his shoulder and cheesed a grin at Verna, who merely rolled her eyes and returned to her magazine. “Also, some friendly advice,” he said, bending down to lean nearer to her ear, “if you fancy having a date to the Slug’s Party, I suggest you figure it out soon.” And with that, the blond pushed back from the table and made his way from the Great Hall.

“Stop calling me that!” Narcissa shouted after him, twitching her nose in displeasure.

“Talks about being a catch,” Verna muttered to herself, flipping a page with a light swish of her wand, “catch of the day, more like it.”

Fatima pursed her lips at that but turned back to Narcissa.

“He’s not wrong, you know,” she prodded lightly. “What are you going to do?”

A pack of first years all huddled together in their blue and bronze scarves passed by their section of the table and up toward the Main Hall and the staircase—with a small, familiar, greasy-haired figure trailing behind them wordlessly. An idea flashing in her clear blue eyes, Narcissa quickly leapt up from her spot at the table.

“Severus, I need a favor!”


	6. Chapter 6

The fireplace in the Slytherin Common Room crackled and popped as a third-year launched another bit of end-of-term coursework into its emerald embers. With many of the older students dressed up and headed to Professor Slughorn’s holiday party, the younger members of Slytherin House had taken to usurping their elders’ preferred seating—which is precisely the reason Severus Snape was left to stand at the base of the girls’ dormitory staircase, rather than sit and read in his normal (and currently occupied) wingback chair by the fire as he waited for his friend.

And Narcissa was late.

Narcissa was _very_ late.

Or at least, to Severus, the passage of time had slowed as he had to stand in his immaculate, freshly purchased dress robes and wait by himself with naught to do but catch each and every curious glance he saw the other students peep from out of the corners of their eyes.

The figurative hackles on the back of his neck stood on end as he caught another pair of eyes staring at him, and a sweat began to break out above his brow. Severus took another step closer to the stairs.

“N-Narcissa?” he called up rather awkwardly.

The protective enchantment preventing wizards from entering the witches’ dormitories repelled him from proceeding further, though the boy pressed as closely as the spell would allow without rebounding him. Laughter spilled from a group of boys crowding around a card game, and a chill snaked down his back at the thought that it could be at his expense. Severus turned to check over his shoulder, self-conscious.

“ _Narciss_ — _!_ ”

“Yes, Sev,” an amused, feminine voice filtered down from the landing of the next floor, “I heard you the first time.”

The boy whipped his gaze back to the staircase at the familiar voice, and the first glimpse he caught of his friend through his curtain of hair was the bottom hem of her dress and the bit of her shoes peeking out beneath it.

Narcissa descended the staircase at her leisure, adjusting her gloves to sit just-so above her elbow and smoothing over the pearl accents affixed in her updo. Her gown was a tulle dream—floor length and matched to the minty green of her outer robe, and the light from the fire sent the shimmer reflects throughout her skirt scattering around the room like some kind of pastel heavenly body.

With a similar effect, the room of young students quieted at her entrance, and Severus felt his face and neck grow warmer. He thought that perhaps he should compliment her, though the words sat lodged at the bottom of his throat, choking his voice and hindering full breaths, until he swallowed them down. 

“Oh, good! The robes fit,” Narcissa exclaimed upon seeing him, eyes analytically flitting about his dark dress robes. “I had to guess the sizing since we hadn’t the time for a proper fitting.”

Severus fidgeted under her attention but nodded.

Narcissa gave him a smile before glancing around the Common Room. Immediately, every student that had stopped to watch the two of them suddenly resumed the activities that had previously occupied them.

“’spose we shouldn’t put this off any longer,” she sighed, more to herself than to Sev and turned to direct them to the Common Room door. “Oh! Wait,” Narcissa pulled her wand from out of her beaded clutch, and, muttering a spell under her breath, pointed it at her friend’s head.

Severus grimaced instinctively as yellow light blinded his vision for just a moment, though when the incantation faded and the spots blinked out of his small eyes, he found his hair had been properly pulled back from his face and gelled neatly into place.

“There,” she stowed her wand away once more, “perfect. Now we can leave.”

“I—er, thank .. you?” Sev followed the fifth-year through the exit from the Slytherin Common Room and struggled to match the taller girl’s stride, even in her heeled shoes.

“You are very welcome,” Narcissa smiled warmly at his reaction (an unusual feat) and headed for the office space on the third floor that was housing their head of house’s party for the night. “Though it really ought to be me thanking you for accompanying me on such short notice.”

Severus looked up to the girl, two pieces of hair falling down to frame her pretty face, and felt himself blushing again as they ascended from the dungeons to the lower-level of the basement and finally up to the Entrance Hall on the ground floor.

“It’s nothing,” he insisted, a little more confidently now that they were out of earshot and talking privately. “I didn’t exactly have plans for the weekend anyway.”

“Still, I appreciate it.” And the words had Sev smiling fully.

The sight of four figures exiting the Great Hall, however, had the expression slowly slip from his face, and Narcissa followed his gaze to find none other than her mischievous cousin and his friends all sauntering out of the hall from dinner.

Sirius Black stopped dead in his tracks as he locked eyes with his cousin, and the mousy boy behind him ran into his back without paying attention, though Sirius did not flinch. Remus beside him also had the sense to remain quiet, aware of the social moratorium between the two Blacks as he was, but the last boy had no such qualms.

“Sirius!” he crowed, nudging his friend’s ribs jokingly. “Sirius, isn’t that your cousin?”

“James, I wouldn’t—” Remus’ soft voice tried to interject, though his efforts were quickly waved off.

“What? I’m merely being polite!” he insisted with a grin, stepping forward to jut out his hand in introduction. “I’m James Potter, and it’s a shame that Sirius has never introduced us.”

Narcissa looked from the boy’s bespectacled face, down to his outstretched hand, and back again without a change in expression. He very clearly was trying to bait her into making some kind of snide comment that he and his friends could laugh about later, she was sure, and that conclusion had her tipping her nose even higher into the air.

“I see,” she clipped her words and drew her hands in closer to her person, almost recoiling from the one still outstretched and hovering between them. “Well, we are late as it is, so I’ll let you continue on to whatever it is you were doing.” She moved to leave.

At the mention of a ‘we’, all four of the boys pulled a confused look. During their interaction, Narcissa had been stood in front of Severus, and both her height and the volume of her dress and robes had hidden him from the view of the Gryffindor boys. But as she moved to leave, and as Severus fell into their field of vision, neither Sirius nor James could suppress their howls of laughter, and even Remus failed to disguise his cough meant to cover his own snickering at the sight of him in his proper dress robes.

“ _Snape?_ ” James gasped between fits of mirthful laughter. “Your date to that dumb Slytherin party is _Snape?_ ”

Sirius was already doubled over laughing when the thickset boy behind him piped up with, “And look at his hair!”

Severus flushed a deep crimson red from his forehead down to his neck as another round of cackling at his expense broke out from the group of Gryffindors and drew the attention of the few meandering students left finishing dinner in the Great Hall. The boy immediately made to turn and flee, though Narcissa latched onto his small wrist with a vice grip that Severus did not dare attempt to pull away from.

“And just what is wrong with taking Severus to the Slug Club Party?” her voice cracked like a whip across the group, and the two fairer-haired boys immediately ceased laughing at the verbal lash.

James and Sirius, of course, did not.

“It’s nothing to do with you, Narcissa!” James gave a lop-sided grin, chuckles still occasionally shaking his chest. “We just think that you could have found someone better to take than Snivellus, of all people!”

Narcissa felt Severus’ pulse jump and begin to race faster at the cruel name and wondered how often he had heard it from the boys. He certainly had never mentioned it to her before, either out of embarrassment or shame. Or both.

“Bullying,” she started, pulling on one of her coldest, most authoritative voices, “is not tolerated at Hogwarts in any fashion, for any reason, as you all well know.” Her eyes worked over the faces of the young Gryffindors, and, after a short pause, she decided, “Five points from Gryffindor, each, for participating.”

Her words had all the effect of an ice bucket being dumped over each of their heads.

“You can’t do that!” Sirius shouted back, and Remus’ hands locked onto his friend’s shoulders to keep him from charging forward and getting them into even more trouble.

“Oh, but I can,” Narcissa’s voice condescended, and James’ cheeky grin slipped from his mouth. “As a Prefect, it’s my duty to correct any wayward behavior in the absence of a teacher or school administrator. Be grateful that I haven’t handed you all a detention.”

Sirius scoffed, shaking off his friend’s hands.

“You hypocritical, moldy wedding cake-looking—” he started forward.

“ _Ten_ points from Gryffindor,” Narcissa countered with a delicate shrug of her bare shoulder. “Have a care, cousin.”

All three boys now worked at restraining Sirius: James slapping a hand over the dark-haired boy’s mouth to muffle whatever names he was trying to throw out; Remus moving himself to stand as a barricade between the cousins; and the portly boy grabbing onto his shoulders to further keep him planted in place.

“Come, Sev,” the blonde beckoned for him to follow her toward the Grand Staircase, “I think we’ve been side-tracked enough.”

Severus happily complied, but not without stopping and throwing a smug smile back behind him to his rivals where they still struggled containing the younger Black.

“Evans is going to kill us for losing more points, James!”

“Shut up, Peter!”

* * *

The party was in full swing by the time Narcissa and Severus arrived at the door of the unused third-floor office. With extensive use of an Undetectable Enlargement Charm, the rather plain room had been transformed into a space that could easily fit a hundred dancing couples, and the ceiling, while normally rough stone and flat was glassy and smooth and charmed into a concave so that, in addition to the thin, crystalline lamps twinkling overhead and the white gossamer fabric draped over the walls, the effect felt something akin to walking into a life-size snow globe.

“Wow,” Severus exhaled, eyes wide and moony as he looked about at the room’s decorations.

“It’s nice,” Narcissa admitted, though she had seen many more marvels at the parties of her family’s friends and neighbors—those who weren’t confined by time or money and who had numerous occasions to splash out on food, entertainment, and furnishing on a moment’s whim.

No, rather than gape at the beautiful surroundings, she was looking around at its occupants, themselves dressed and painted to the nines, in search of two familiar faces, and as a fluttery laugh rose high above the crowd to her right, Narcissa picked up her dress and began easily maneuvering through the crowd, with Severus endeavoring to follow as best he could behind her.

Fatima’s strawberry blonde waves shone warmly beneath the lamps, and while Mulciber stood in his midnight purple robes stock-still with disinterest, his date was animatedly relaying the minutest of details of the recent Quidditch match between Russia and Bulgaria.

“… and so Vasily and Misha go to Body Blow the Bulgarian Captain Dobromir—who only recently recovered from a nasty bout of vanishing sickness, you’ll remember—but he’s able to shake them off and score with a Dionysus Dive!”

Mulciber could barely muster the interest to grunt that he had heard her, so Verna took it upon herself to engage her best friend’s interests. 

“Is that so,” the girl nodded, not following but also not quite willing to try and learn more. “Those Slavs really are … are something, aren’t they—and oh, look! Narcissa’s here!”

“Where is—” Fatima looked around quickly, and upon spotting her, flung her arms open and threw herself around the blonde without hesitation. “Narcissa! You look beautiful—” she pulled back to properly study her outfit.

“Thank you, Fatima. As do you,” Narcissa patted her friend’s arm with her white tulle gloves, “and you too, Verna.” She looked over to where Verna stood with her bare arms crossed, her sleek, black velvet dress and robes so dark that it seemed to drain all of the color from the area surrounding it … or Wilkes was just wearing a white dress, though the former did seem especially fitting. 

“You brought the kid,” Verna nodded in appreciation for the compliment, but her attention stayed fixed on Severus as he finally wedged his way out of the crowd and tentatively joined their circle. Mulciber gave the boy a nod, and Wilkes waved her own greeting to him.

“ _Verna_ ,” Fatima gave the girl a look for her bluntness, before turning back to them. “Hello, Severus,” her voice was kind as she addressed him, if infantilizing. “I think it’s sweet that you decided to bring him, Narcissa, really.” 

Severus blushed at that, all of his confidence from their run-in with James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter leaking away as he was faced with older students now seemingly teasing him.

“I’d rather take Severus and have a nice time than force myself to let someone our year chat my ear off about things I’m not interested in all night,” she defended, her eyes quickly darting to Fatima’s date before finding her friends once more.

Verna shrugged and opened her mouth to reply, but before she could, Professor Slughorn came bustling through in his verdant robes, his cheeks ruddy with wine and his gooseberry eyes set alight with the hubbub of partygoing.

“Miss Travers and young master Mulciber!” he greeted Fatima and her date. “Your father’s well? He works in the Department of Magical Games and Sports, I recall.”

“He is very well, Professor, thank you,” Fatima beamed at their host. “Already hard at work making arrangements for the next World Cup.”

The man gave an excited titter at the news, the potential for bets and gambling further dizzying his vision, before turning to Verna next.

“And Miss Fawley and Miss Wilkes! A fine couple, indeed!” He clasped his hands together at the sight. “I mean—well, I would not have guessed, but many a match has been made in my classroom … Sunday Thornheart and Benjamin Grimm, the world-famous photography team met in my Advanced Potions class in 1945, you know?” the professor puffed out his chest with pride, as if he’d forged the match himself.

“That’s … admirable,” Verna sighed, and Slughorn nodded vigorously at her half-hearted assessment, about ready to launch into another story of star-crossed lovers that owed him their undying gratitude when Narcissa finally caught his attention.

“Miss Black and … young master Snape!” the professor gave a surprised laugh, though clearly delighted. “Two of my most promising pupils! Is this another match in the works that I should keep an eye out for?” he joked.

Verna threw her dark hair back and cackled, and Severus couldn’t bring himself to look any one of them in the eye, instead casting his uncomfortable gaze out over the other partygoers. 

“No, I don’t believe so,” Narcissa smiled, and only held back her laughter for Sev’s sake, “but I’ve been mentoring him in Potions—at least until he surpasses me in skill, which should be any day now. I purchased a copy of Advanced Potion Making for him, and he’s already worked his way through it all.”

“Splendid!” Slughorn radiated glee at the prospect of claiming responsibility for such a prodigy. “He’ll be writing his own potions recipes in no time, won’t you lad?”

Severus’ face burned at the praise, and he stiffly nodded along as the man patted his back with his thick hands that nearly sent him tumbling forward.

“Though you’re no slouch, m’dear,” he turned his grin to Narcissa. “So dedicated! Even despite the trouble with your fam—” Professor Slughorn, through his brandy-induced brain fog, faltered over his words as he slowly realized what it was he was saying, and the implications. “Oh, I …” he began to stammer.

Narcissa stood perfectly still, her demeanor cool and expression unwavering. Perhaps the only positive consequence of the endless gossip surrounding her middle sister’s estrangement was that she’d come to better control her kneejerk reaction to Andromeda being discussed. Rip a bandage off for the first time, and the pain is sharp and throbbing, but rip the same bandage off over and over, ad infinitum, and the sticky adhesive begins to lose its sting.

While Fatima and Severus lowered their gaze, Verna and Wilkes—and even the mind-numbingly apathetic Mulciber—fixed their attention on Narcissa so that, not for the first time, she wished to succumb to her own bout of vanishing sickness.

“Well,” the girl started with a deep breath, “divorce exists.” She made the statement as if Pureblood society would simply forgive and forget marriage to a Muggleborn, even if short lived, though (and she would never consider herself naïve) she was terribly hopeful.

 _Desperate is more like it_ , her aunt’s harsh voice whispered at the back of her mind, snaking around her thoughts with venomous punctuation, _and foolish._

Narcissa forced a smile.

“And my family is doing perfectly fine otherwise,” she said, “thank you, Professor.”

Their host’s eyes flicked between his students. He swallowed a feeling of dread at the tension and cleared his throat of the sticking feeling it had wrought.

“Ah, yes, well,” he teetered a bit in place, “I should … should be tending to my other guests, I suppose. Enjoy the evening festivities, all of you.” He excused himself and began to totter off to enthrall a new group of students with his tales of self-adulation. ~~~~

Fatima rubbed at her forearm, and Wilkes politely feigned a short cough to mask the silence.

“Darling cousin!” Evan Rosier swaggered over in his satiny pastel robes, an arm slung around the waist of Heath Abbott, the Ravenclaw Head Boy, who blushed at the placement of his date’s hand, though he made no effort to remove it and simply offered the group a small wave and a timid, “Hello.”

“We saw Slughorn leave,” Evan said, “how in Merlin’s sweet world did you manage that?”

Narcissa darted her eyes to the embarrassed Head Boy, arched a brow as if to say, “ _oh, really?_ ”, and remained tactfully silent as she looked back to her cousin, who was grinning a wolfish grin that his secret date had finally been revealed. She gave a small nod of approval.

“With manners, if you’d believe,” Fatima stepped up to answer Evan’s question.

“Really?” The boy pulled a face. “With manners?”

Verna crossed her arms, seemingly bristling with his presence.

“You’re surprised?” she asked him somewhat pointedly.

“Only that you know what manners are at all,” Evan let a smile grace his lips, not missing a beat with her accusation.

Verna curled her lip, but before she could work out an insult to lodge back, Fatima set a delicate hand at her arm to draw her attention away.

“Let’s go dance, Vee,” she prompted lightly, heading off any resistance by adding, “since Mulciber won’t be asking me anytime soon.” The darker girl peered around her friend’s sugar plum form to spy the boy still sulking and staring off into space before allowing herself to be gently nudged step by step toward the near-empty dancefloor. Wilkes threw her hands up at the development.

“Sorry, Ada!” Fatima called over her shoulder, already beginning to twirl.

Narcissa could not help but to laugh at the two of them, though the look Wilkes shot her at the sound had her clamping her mouth shut to smother down her amusement instead. She could not conceal the warmth of her smile, however, as she watched her best friends dance circles around the other couples.

“Narcissa?” a small voice rose over the lilting music.

“Hm?” The noise vocalized low in her throat, though was audible enough to be heard by the first-year still trailing her robes as close as would be deemed appropriate. Narcissa’s blue eyes trailed the ovate path of their dancing one last time before shifting downward to Severus.

“Care to join them, Sev?” she nodded at the flowing couples as they made another pass around the dancefloor.

“No!” Severus shuddered at the thought instinctively. “I mean—no, thank you, Narcissa—” he blushed at the sound of his friend’s light laugh as he corrected himself. “I … only was curious,” the boy started again, “as to why Verna and your cousin seem to dislike each other so.”

“Ah, _that_ ,” Narcissa felt her smile rise once more. “It’s really nothing so dire. She and Evan used to date is all, and it began—and ended—during our third year.”

Severus’ expression fell to the floor at the idea.

“They dated? _Each other?_ ”

Narcissa snorted.

“For all of two weeks, yes,” she smiled. “They were each other’s first kiss, as well, I believe.”

Severus made a blanching face at that.

“It didn’t end well, I assume?”

“No,” Narcissa laughed, “I think they were too much alike in all the wrong ways.”

The boy opened his mouth as if were going to say something but took a contemplative pause before seemingly deciding against it. He looked to where Verna gave a hesitant smile as Fatima twirled her about and then over to Evan and Heath warmly conversating and laughing.

Evan reached into the inner pockets of his robes and withdrew a small flask, his fingers deftly undoing the bottle’s clasp so that he could quickly throw his head back for a swig. He met Severus’ eyes before he could reseal the thing to store away, and he grinned.

“Care for a nip?” he extended his arm out to offer.

Narcissa turned away from the dancers at the sound of her cousin’s voice—and just in time to snatch the flask out of Evan’s hand.

“Really, Evan? Firewhiskey? You’re a Prefect!” she lowered her voice to chastise. “A Prefect at our head of house’s party!”

“Firewhiskey?” A smooth voice interjected.

Narcissa straightened up at the familiar voice, and Evan used the moment to pluck his flask from out between her fingers and throw back another long swig of the amber liquid. He coughed a little as the drink burned his throat and coursed warmly down through his chest and throughout his limbs. The bright blond shook his head, smiling.

“Lucius?” her cousin offered the older boy the flask now, though she did not move to stop him this time as it was passed between the boys.

“You shouldn’t encourage him, you know—” Narcissa began with a half-smile, turning to face Lucius, only to pause as she caught sight of the girl linking arms with him. Her heart thudded in her chest. “Lenore.”

Lenore Zabini was a vision in cream silk with gold trim that contrasted against the rich, deep brown of her skin. Her dark hair was pinned back with winged hair clasps so as to not obscure the finely molded features of her face. While certainly the most beautiful girl in year six—and perhaps in their entire house—what made her stomach turn over in fits was how her arm was perched so carelessly upon Lucius’ forearm.

Not a care for who could see them.

Or what someone might think.

“Hello, Narcissa,” Lenore smiled wide to show off her perfect teeth, her canines glinting with an inherent threat. “I wasn’t sure what kind of party the Slug would throw this year, but this is proving to be more enjoyable than any in recent memory.” The girl disentangled herself from her date to step forward and take a turn with the flask.

Lenore threw her head back as she drank, and as she went to re-stopper it, she scrunched her face up at the taste.

“’s got a bit of a bite,” she cleared her throat of the burn and passed the Firewhiskey off to her date. “Lu?”

Lucius gave a subtle roll of his eyes at the name but took the flask all the same and threw back a swig of his own without much reaction. With a short wipe of his mouth, he was passing it back along to Narcissa.

“Thank you,” she said tersely, “ _Lu_.”

Confusion rippled across his face at her tone before he could manage to smooth his expression again. Narcissa tipped the small bottle back for one, long draft, the hot liquid burning her throat and nearly triggering her gag reflex. She kept it down, though, and felt some of the tension slacken in her shoulders.

She tossed it back to her cousin.

Evan caught it just in time, casting her a quizzical look but stowing his contraband away without further comment—to Heath’s relief.

“Oh, good!” the Head Boy clapped his hands together anxiously and looked about to see whether anyone had noticed them. “Now that we’ve finished with _that_ —!”

A pair of hands appeared from over one of Evan’s shoulders, nonchalantly brushing down the sleek fabric as she stepped forward in a flash of asymmetric gold ruffles. Yvonne tapped her nails against his chest with a _tsk_ before retrieving the flask from his robes’ inner pocket. Heath spluttered at the move.

“Incredibly rude of you not to share, Evan,” the girl complained lightly, and tipped the drink back with little more than a wince. She offered a wave to the others.

The blond plucked the thing from out between her fingers without much reaction.

“Well, it’s a good year; smooth and meant for those of a higher, discerning taste. I didn’t think it would suit you,” he gave a sugary smile.

Yvonne scoffed.

“Where have you been?” Narcissa’s voice cut through the exchange with all of the bluntness of a bludger.

The other girl cut her hazel eyes in her direction at the question, the flecks of gold scattered throughout her iris shining with … something. Mischief, Narcissa supposed, or some other ill-intent.

“I’ve just left Seraphina Croft, if you must know. A terribly powerful curse-breaker, or something-or-other. She’s one of Slughorn’s _special guests_ tonight, so he’s having her make the rounds with his guests. We’ve only just left her. She is, actually, very interesting.”

“’We?’” Lenore interjected, peering about.

Yvonne smiled and shifted her attention back to Narcissa.

 _Hecate, give me strength_.

Stephen Leggett swaggered out from the surrounding crowd as if summoned. He made a beeline for his date and set a thin hand at her waist. The flask soon caught his attention, however, and before Yvonne could swat away his touch, the Quidditch Captain secured the flask from Evan and threw back a long swig of the fiery drink.

Evan snatched the thing back, to Leggett’s amusement.

“What, no respect for your Quidditch team’s captain?” he grinned and pulled at the lapels of his mossy-colored robes to straighten them.

Wilkes let her eyelids fall lower over her eyes, disinterested, and stalked away to find her date, while Lucius merely stood rigid and silently fumed at the boy’s sudden appearance.

“Respect?” Lenore’s twinkling laughter drew his attention. “If you would win us a game, perhaps you might earn some, Leggett.”

The boy, tall and lean and highly resembling a pickle in his green robes, furrowed his brow and frowned at the girl. “But we won—”

“We won—” Narcissa interrupted angrily, the Firewhiskey coursing through her bloodstream only further fueling her rage, “—because Lucius caught the snitch while we were down by more than fifty points. Though I do appreciate the one goal you managed to score for us.” Her voice fell to a more facetious tone. “Is it still dedicated to me, or is it Yvonne’s now that the two of you seem to be dating?”

Yvonne made a face at the idea of the two of them dating, but Leggett basked in both the assumption and Narcissa’s emotional reaction.

“Jealous, are we?” he cocked a slanted grin at her. “Now really, there’s no need for that. You’re a catch, Narcissa,” his gaze fell from her perfectly poised updo framing her scowling expression and dropped lower, down the smooth column of her neck only to pause over her exposed collar and bustline before further taking in the rest of her gown. “You’ll find someone eventually.”

Severus flared his nostrils as the Quidditch Captain casually raked his gaze down his friend’s body, and the movement attracted the very boy’s attention. Leggett glanced between Narcissa and Severus with a look of surprise before realization dawned on him and sparked a sound of joy from chest.

“This is your date, Narcissa?” he laughed and stepped closer to them so that he could ruffle a hand through the first-year’s hair. “Certainly an … interesting choice.” He bit back an elated grin.

Severus flushed an angry crimson at the disheveling of his gelled hair, but before Narcissa could raise either hand or wand against the older boy, Lucius was suddenly before them, and though she could not see his face from her position behind him, she could tell from his tense stance and the way he gripped Leggett’s arm to wrench away from Sev’s hair—though not so rough as to arouse the attention of the partygoers around them—that he was furious.

“I suggest,” Lucius’ voice was icy and hard, “that you keep your hands away from my first-years, _Stephen_.”

Lenore’s face was grave as she made eye contact with Narcissa.

“Oh?” Leggett recovered from his shock quickly and puffed himself up to face the other boy. “And if I don’t, _Lucius_? Are you threatening your Quidditch Captain? Shall I report this to Slughorn or Dumbledore and have you further demoted—perhaps tossed off of the team this time?” 

“Threatening?” Lucius let slip a scoff. “If I wanted to threaten you, I wouldn’t be daft enough to do it in public, Leggett. No, I am merely _warning_ you, as a Prefect of Slytherin House, against mishandling younger students and harassing young women.” He steeled his expression. “And should news of further behavior reach our head of house or headmaster, well … I am quite certain that they would reconsider their decision to appoint you as Quidditch Captain.”

Leggett let a slow smile spread across his lips.

“This is how you intend to become captain again, Malfoy? Stooping to blackmail and threats because you couldn’t make it on skill or performance alone?”

Lucius lunged for the boy. His hands buried themselves in the fabric of the front of his robes and roughly yanked him forward as Stephen Leggett attempted to scramble back from the other boy’s strong grip.

Evan couldn’t help but to laugh.

“Lucius!” Narcissa hissed, setting both of her hands at his forearm in an attempt to pry him off of Leggett. Lenore joined her on his other arm. “Lucius, stop this!”

With both girls’ efforts, Lucius released his hold on the Quidditch Captain. Leggett yanked his arm back and stepped further backward, his chest rising and falling rapidly with a surge of adrenaline. He fumbled for a moment at his inner robe’s pocket, and in a flash, he whipped out his wand and pointed it, shaking, at Lucius, with Narcissa and Lenore still holding either of his arms.

Lucius sneered, while Evan and Heath moved to withdraw their own wands.

“Oh, that is enough,” Yvonne grit her teeth and swatted at his wand hand, pushing it down so as to point it toward the floor and away from the trio of Slytherins. “You’ll get yourself expelled if you’re not careful. Now, go!”

The redhead pushed his shoulder, nudging him back into the party’s crowd, and Leggett complied to her command, if a touch indignant. With a final glance back to Narcissa, Yvonne followed after him.

Lenore released her hold on her date with a sigh of relief.

“Fighting like a common Muggle, Lucius?” Narcissa dropped her hands from him as well, bringing one of them to cover over her eyes for a moment. With a steadying breath, she looked over to Severus, whose face was white and hair still mussed, quietly watching them.

Narcissa set a hand at his shoulder and let the other to smooth over and fix what Leggett had ruffled out of place, not bothering with her original spell.

“Why don’t you go find us something to drink, Sev?” she offered the boy a chance for distraction, and he looked up at her for a moment before nodding. Lucius patted his shoulder as he went, offering him an encouraging smile.

As he looked back to Narcissa, however, he allowed himself to drop his head in repentance.

“Sorry,” he murmured.

Lucius, Lenore, Heath, Evan, and Narcissa let a moment of quiet breathing take hold, glad for the respite, when Mulciber finally stirred, and at last turned his attention fully to the group.

“Should have let Lucius hit him.”

* * *

Enchanted snow had begun to fall as the hour grew later and the night colder.

The two or three heads that had turned to their commotion soon fell bored and returned to their own activities without comment, and while Fatima and Verna continued to conquer the dance floor—leaving an irate Wilkes to sullenly return without her date—poor Severus had been waylaid by Professor Slughorn while on his mission to retrieve two goblets of punch.

Narcissa could see their professor’s arm slung around the boy’s shoulder, introducing him to a pretty witch in short teal robes who must have been the Seraphina Croft Yvonne had mentioned. Even out of earshot, she could tell that Slughorn was boasting of his young pupil’s talent and future promise.

Professor Slughorn said something to make he and the witch fall into a fit of laughter, and Severus squirmed as the two continued on.

Narcissa smiled.

“You heard about the Squib marches, Lucius?” Mulciber said. “Can you believe they’re demanding rights now?”

“As if they’re even a part of the wizarding community,” Lucius pursed his lips. “It’s ridiculous.”

“Perhaps,” Lenore started slowly, her eyes shifting about at the crowd around them, “perhaps your father should intervene with Minister Jenkins the way he did with Minister Leach. He still has never recovered, that I’ve heard from my mother.”

Lucius felt Heath Abbott’s eyes on him and held his gaze for a moment, considering the other boy, before demurring.

“Rumors,” he said simply. “Naught but gossip and speculation.”

Mulciber gave an impatient noise.

“Well, _whoever_ was responsible, they had the right idea. And they’re not alone—not anymore.”

Wilkes blinked.

“Meaning—?”

“ _Meaning_ ,” the boy articulated with purpose, “that the new Ministry has been packing the Wizengamot with Mudbloods and Mudblood-sympathizers since ‘62. They’ve been trying to dismantle our Pureblood communities and force us to …” he blustered a moment, “ _commingle_ with this scum. But now there are others willing to do what must be done—others like Lucius’ father—and they’re organizing against the Ministry.”

“The Death-Eaters,” Evan frowned and gave his cousin a fleeting glance.

 _How does Evan know about them_ , Narcissa thought.

“ ’Death-Eaters?’ ” Lenore gave a dry laugh. “How melodramatic.”

“Oh, they’re deadly serious, Zabini,” Mulciber brow furrowed angrily. “You’ve heard about all of those attacks on the Muggles this summer? Who did you think was responsible for them?”

“This group, the Death Eaters, they’re responsible for the murders?” Narcissa at last found her voice to ask. A small hope fluttered in her chest that Bellatrix _was_ actually living peacefully—or at least whatever Bella considered to be quiet and unobtrusive—in her flat in London. “How can you be sure?”

The older boy gave somewhat of a half-scowl, seemingly annoyed that she would question his knowledge on the subject.

“My father’s one of them, if you must know, Black,” Mulciber drew himself up taller, proud and posturing. “He’d been contributing to the group’s members for nearly a year, financially, but finally took the Mark himself this past summer.” He finished proudly.

“The ‘Mark’?” Lenore repeated.

“Zabini, are you just going to repeat everything I say?” the dark-haired boy dropped his airs as quickly as he had thrown them on to glower at the girl.

“It was just a question! I support their cause and mission, but if they’re made to brand themselves, well …” the girl extended a long, supple arm to catch the candlelight of the lamps overhead, “I could never mar this perfect skin.”

Mulciber’s face turned ruddy, and he looked ready to combust as he opened his mouth, but before he could, Lucius interjected.

“They brand themselves, these Death Eaters?” his tone piqued interest. “With what exactly? Is it a phrase or, rather, some kind of symbol?”

Mulciber slackened his sneer as he turned away from Lenore.

“It’s a skull,” he answered his friend plainly, anger still simmering just beneath the surface, “with a winding serpent for a tongue. Only the innermost members are granted the Mark, so it’s placed on the inner forearm.” He placed a hand over his left arm without thought, though Lucius’ eyes lingered over the motion.

“And you, Mulciber? Have you—?” the blond nodded at his forearm.

“Have I—?” the darker boy’s eyes widened as he caught his meaning. “No! No, I’m too young yet to join the Death Eaters’ ranks, or at least so my father’s been told, but I intend to join them after I graduate.”

A flicker of emotion crossed Evan’s face.

“And you’ll just turn over the rest of your life to the Death Eaters?” he asked, though his voice rang more hollow than accusatory. “No aspiration or career, just … serving in the ranks as a Death Eater?”

“Serving the Dark Lord often requires you to attain certain positions—in the Ministry or otherwise—that are beneficial for ascertaining useful information or infiltrating the necessary institutions … though,” Mulciber paused and steeled his expression as he looked on Evan, “if the Dark Lord were ever to call on me to forgo a career at the Ministry and devote myself entirely to ensuring the purity of wizard blood, I would.”

“Without question?”

“Without question.”

Quiet descended over their group as Evan stared at Mulciber, whether in confusion or wonder none could tell, but his uncharacteristic silence set a turning in Narcissa’s stomach—and evidently in Heath Abbott’s as well.

“You know, I think we’ll grab a spot of punch,” the boy suggested, nudging his date’s shoulder so that he might understand. And it seemed to work: Evan blinked, unfixing his attention from Mulciber and turning his glance sidelong to the Head Boy. Immediately, his shoulders relaxed, and he let out a small, shaky laugh.

“’course,” he clapped his hand on the other boy’s shoulder in agreement. “Let’s go.”

The two turned and began heading in the direction of the punch bowl across the room, but before her cousin could dissolve into the colorful mingling of bodies making up the crowd of party guests, Narcissa hurried forward to set a hand at his arm, “Evan.”

The blond stopped at the soft touch above his elbow and turned to her at the sound of his name.

“Cousin,” he responded with a grin, though the jauntiness and signature easygoing nature in his tone failed to reflect in his eyes.

Narcissa stared at him a moment, studying his expression and watching his eyes—eyes so like her own that it almost felt like staring into a mirror. A feeling lurched in her belly once more.

“Are you all right?” she tried.

Evan’s grin settled into more of a gracious smile.

“I’m fine,” he told her, “albeit thirsty, so if you would—”

“Where are you going?”

“The punch bowl,” he allowed himself to laugh, “if you would let me.”

Her hand remained at his arm, however.

“And afterwards?”

“Narcissa—”

“I just want to know that you’ll be all right,” she said earnestly. “You may not wish to share it now, but I can tell when something is off in you.”

Evan looked to his cousin, and a thought darkened over his eyes, she could tell, but then it was gone in an instant. His expression smoothed over once more, and he leaned in nearer so that he could whisper in her ear.

“ _Well_ , if you must know,” he was close enough that his breath warmed her cheek, “after punch and some particularly chipper conversation, I had planned on leaving with Heath and finding out if there’s more than one reason he’s called the Head Boy, if you understand my meaning, cousin.”

Narcissa made a noise of disgust and removed her arm just so she could slap his shoulder.

Evan laughed.

“I tried to warn you.”

“You’re perverse,” though her grin betrayed her harsh words.

Evan Rosier made a show of bowing at her description as if she were an audience for which he had just performed, drinking in the accusation as praise and brightening in smile and overall demeanor as a result.

“Be careful,” she warned him.

“I shall try,” he brought her hand to his lips to offer a parting kiss before righting himself and turning to follow his date.

“And stop drinking!” Narcissa called out to his retreating back.

“Not likely!”

* * *

Pale yellow stars glistened in the deep indigo expanse of the night sky.

Narcissa cast her eyes upward.

The Orion constellation always caught her attention first at this time of year, with Rigel and Betelgeuse shining and radiant, though Sirius always tended to pull her attention away, as bright as he was. Taurus, Perseus, Aries, Cetus … her gaze drifted from constellation to constellation with a practiced ease. Aquarius, Pegasus, Andromeda …

Wind rustled through the trees of the Forbidden Forrest on the grounds far below the Astronomy Tower.

“It’s a beautiful night.” 

Narcissa turned her glance sideways to that silken voice, and found Lucius leaning his elbows onto the rampart’s edge beside her. He was still dressed smartly in his cream dress robes, though the light of the moon washed the color away to a nice, reflective cool white.

He would make a nice star, Narcissa thought inwardly, and allowed herself to smile at the mental image it conjured.

“How did you know where to find me?”

Lucius caught her smile before she could turn away and let himself inch nearer where she stood.

“I figured you’d want to be with your family,” he said simply.

Laughter caught in her throat at that.

She had always felt a sense of … security, she supposed, and familiarity, from stargazing. The constellations were plastered over the homes of her father, uncles, and aunt; and were so closely entangled with the memory of the Blacks that had been named for them that a mere glance at Gemini triggered the musky stench of her late grandfather Pollux’s cologne. 

With her family’s current situation, however, the stars left her with an ever-increasing feeling of loneliness.

Her parents continued sequestering themselves in their family home to mourn; Bella was skulking about the streets of London and ignoring all written communication; and Andy was Morgana-knew-where with a Muggleborn she’d deemed more important than all of them. The only family within reasonable range was Sirius, and he’d made it painfully clear that he no longer wished to be her family.

The stars above them twinkled in place, dotting the sky a hundred times over, and here she was alone. Her mouth turned down into a small frown.

At the change in her expression, Lucius lightly cleared his throat.

“You’re angry with me,” he guessed.

Narcissa blinked, furrowing her brow at the declaration, it coming seemingly out of nowhere, and turned to face him fully this time.

“What are you talking about, Lucius?”

It was the boy’s turn for surprise.

“The party—Lenore,” he explained, “and then for almost striking Leggett.”

The crease in her forehead smoothed out at as he continued, and a smile twitched over her lips that he thought such menial things could draw her ire.

“No, Mulciber was right,” she snickered, “you should have hit Leggett; he has done more than enough to deserve as much. The only reason I stopped you was to keep your Prefect duties from being rescinded.”

Lucius couldn’t help his smirk.

“And then how else would we be able to meet?”

“Exactly,” Narcissa beamed at him. “And with Lenore … well,” she felt her cheeks warm considerably at her next thought. “You could’ve chosen someone less stunning, you know.”

He brought a hand up to rub behind his head.

“Ah,” the boy said gently, “well, I’d not really thought about it that way—about her. She didn’t have a date yet, and neither did I. And since the one person I would’ve chosen to bring, I _couldn’t_ , I figured …“ he trailed off, leaving that idea unfinished. “I never intended to make you jealous.”

 _Jealous_.

Narcissa groaned at the word.

“Jealousy,” she scrunched her nose, “I do not wear it well.”

“You looked beautiful,” Lucius disagreed, not missing a beat. “I never had a chance to tell you tonight, being surrounded by our friends as we were, but you looked— _look_ ,” he corrected himself, as she was still wearing her gown, “positively enchanting.”

Her attention dropped to her shoes at the compliment, and she muttered her thanks without meeting his eye.

Narcissa had written to her mother at the first notice of the party and asked her to choose an outfit she felt was appropriate in the hopes of stirring her out of the trance she’d lived in since Andromeda’s elopement. This gown had been the last Narcissa had bought during their time in France over the summer—and so was the first gown hanging in her wardrobe.

Her mother, who had delighted in dressing her up as if she were a doll throughout her entire childhood, hadn’t even put any thought into the choice. It was possible, even, that their elf had been left to decide for her.

“I wish I would’ve gotten to dance, at least,” Narcissa leaned more into the rampart’s wall, smoothing her hands over the top of it, and gazing out at the stars once more. “It’s the perfect gown for dancing.”

Lucius considered her rather detached response, watching her expression carefully.

“Do you ever wish you were a star? Or, well, named after one, I mean,” he asked. “Like the rest of your family.”

The blonde took a moment to think before answering.

“No,” she admitted, “not particularly. I’ve always admired my mother for disrupting the Black naming practice, actually. Her favored subject has long been herbology, so she and my father came to the idea of choosing a flower whose name was rooted in the same mythology as his family’s … and thus, the Narcissus flower was chosen,” she punctuated the statement with a flippant gesture of her arm over Hogwarts’ grounds. “Its common name: daffodil.”

Lucius listened, noting her tone.

“Well, you are anything but common, Narcissa.”

Narcissa breathed out her laughter, and white plumes of condensation filled the air in front of her like dragon’s fire.

“Flatterer,” she accused, glancing at him sidelong.

“I’ve certainly been called worse,” he grinned and moved to wind an arm around her shoulder, “and by those whose voices and countenances were not nearly as attractive as your own.”

“It was well-deserved, I’m sure.” She leaned readily into his warmth at her side, only just realizing how chilly she had been without him there before.

“Oh, always,” Lucius crinkled his brow in amusement.

For a moment, the two of them were stood in comfortable silence beneath the smothering darkness. Narcissa set her head to rest on his shoulder, feeling the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed deep and relaxed, while Lucius, in turn, leaned his head atop hers, breathing in the clean, slightly floral scent of her hair. Neither spoke, though they needn’t.

Minutes passed in what felt like seconds … when the rattling of chains reverberated distantly throughout the lower levels of the Astronomy Tower, and they both looked up instinctively.

“That’ll be the Baron,” Narcissa murmured, raising her head at the sound.

Now displaced, Lucius took the opportunity to step back from the rampart wall, and when Narcissa turned to see where it was he was going, she found him to be bowing at the waist and holding out his hand.

“What is this?” she laughed, but surrendered her hand regardless.

Lucius smiled.

“Care for a dance?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've missed you guys! Hopefully you've had some happy holidays, yeah? Wishing you all health and happiness in the New Year :)
> 
> (Also if you enjoy, please kudos and review, yadda yadda! :o) Love you all <3)

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it to the end, please leave a kudos; and if you actually enjoyed it, consider leaving a comment! Love you guys :)


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